What Makes You Stronger
by skygirl55
Summary: For Detective Kate Beckett, getting to know her barista, Rick, better may end up being more than she bargained for. Caskett AU. Trigger warnings inside.
1. Chapter 1

**What Makes You Stronger**

For Detective Kate Beckett, getting to know her barista, Rick, better may end up being more than she bargained for. Caskett AU

Trigger Warnings for: Sexual Assault, Abuse. Note: no assault or abuse take place in the story, it's only discussed as past events.

* * *

There will be 12 chapters

* * *

 **ONE**

Kate Beckett winced as the wind directed a spray of mist in her direction. Not rain—mist. Why was it misting? Was that worse than rain? For her hair, it definitely was. She had wisely chosen the bun that day, which was good; otherwise, her nice flowing curls would have turned into frizz half a block into her walk.

With a sigh, Kate flipped up the collar of her trench coat and hunched down into it, trying to keep as much as the moisture off her neck and face as she could. She could make it—just a few more blocks to Starbucks and then another half-block to the subway station. She could handle the mist for that duration.

Annoying as it was, Kate was glad that the misty rain most likely meant the end of snow and ice. Late March snowstorms were not unheard of, but certainly uncommon. She was glad for the spring; it would mean a fresh start for her in more ways than one.

For nine months the newly anointed Detective Kate Beckett had dedicated herself one hundred and fifty percent to her job. She ate, breathed, and slept her cases. When on the off chance she was not working an official case, she was either at the gym, prepping for a court appearance, or working on the cold case that haunted her existence.

It was an exhausting job—she wouldn't lie about that or try to deny it—but the good kind of exhausting; the satisfying kind. With each victim she obtained justice for, with each arrest she made, Kate knew she was making a difference. The NYPD made her their youngest female detective ever and she was hell bent not to let them down. Of course, Kate could not have accomplished even half as much as she had without her addition to the liquid-gold substance known as coffee.

Kate could rarely recall a time she did not start her shift with coffee. In fact, if pressed to think of a situation, she wasn't sure she could even come up with one. Ever since she was a rookie, beginning a shift with a caffeine jolt was an absolute must. Back then it was the department-provided swill she drank as she was still paying off school loans and it was free. It was not, however, quality coffee by any stretch of the imagination.

When Kate made detective, her obsessive dedication to the job had her arriving earlier than necessary for her shift and staying later, which meant more and more cups of the precinct-issue coffee descended over her reluctant palate. However, six weeks into her new position, the universe smiled upon her and a Starbucks opened up on the route from her apartment to the subway. The chain store could not help her with cups two, three, or four (or five, six, seven) of the day, but she certainly could have a high-quality first cup.

At first, Kate tried to splurge only a few times a week, but as the winter chill set in her pilgrimage to the all-prominent chain became regular. She had become one of _those_ New Yorkers—a Starbucks regular. But she couldn't help it—nor was she particularly brand loyal. If the corner shop in her path had been a Dunkin' Donuts she still would have stopped for coffee; anything was better than the gritty, overly acidic brew at the twelfth.

When the green and white sign came into her view, Kate hurried her walk to a near sprint, blinking her eyes repeatedly against the stinging mist until she was safely inside the warm—and dry!—atmosphere of the coffee shop. The delightful smell of ground, roasted beans drifted beneath her nostrils and her mist-induced scowl disappeared immediately. If she could wear the scent of freshly brewed coffee as a perfume she probably would; maybe someday that would be invented.

On that particular day, a Wednesday, Kate had pulled the early shift, which meant she was entering her favorite shop at the oh-so-early time of 6:12 a.m. Generally, when she went into the coffee shop that early—or, really, any time before seven—it was not too crowded. Maybe only one or two people were in the shop with her at any given time. That morning, however, was different.

Standing at the counter ordering drinks and breakfast sandwiches were a trio of men. Unlike the regular Starbucks early morning patrons these men were not wearing suits or carrying briefcases. Instead, they were dressed in jeans and jackets. All three wore baseball caps, two with the brim towards the back. As Kate observed their boisterous laughter and the way they shoved at one another her scowl returned and she could not help but wonder if perhaps they had not recently awakened, but had not yet gone to bed.

As the men moved aside, their order placed, Kate caught her first glimpse of who was working behind the counter and her scowl disappeared for the second time that day. As a regular patron of the establishment, Kate generally recognized almost every employee on shift at any given day and time. Sure, employees left and new ones began—the blonde girl behind the register being one of them; Kate had only seen her a few times before. But, for the most part, Kate recognized everyone including the barista named Rick manning the espresso machine that morning.

From the first day the shop opened, the tall, broad-shouldered, blue-eyed man had passed over her coffee with smile and a, "Have a great day." He, of course, was not working every time she ordered (his regular shift was the early morning one and sometimes she entered the shop at mid-day), but she accepted coffee from him three times a week on average.

Silly. It was silly—completely silly. Kate completely and one hundred percent acknowledge that it was silly—not to mention improbable, but somehow the coffee just tasted better when Rick made it. She could not put her finger on why or how. It may have been how he steamed the milk or the effort he used when squeezing out those two pumps of sugar-free vanilla, or maybe it was all in her mind, but she just knew that his cups tasted better than those made by any other barista.

Then again, maybe the answer was not physically quantifiable because it was all in her mind. She liked Rick's coffee better because she liked Rick better. And if she were being completely honest with herself, she would admit to looking forward to the days he greeted her with a smile.

Within just a few weeks of going to the new coffee shop Kate had learned the name of her preferred barista. It wasn't hard; it only took her a few glances at his nametag to remember. However, what amazed her was that it only took him a few weeks after that to learn _her_ name. He wasn't just reading it off the cup, either. On the rare occasion he was working the register, he greeted her with, "Good morning, Kate. The usual?" Yes—he had even memorized her drink order. Given her daily appearance in the shop she supposed that wasn't too shocking, but yet he was the only one who made an effort to learn.

Kate's friend Medical Examiner Lanie Parish referred to the man as her Barista Boyfriend. Naturally, Kate brushed off this absurd moniker. Did she offer him a smile in the early hours when everyone else received nothing more than a glower? Maybe. And of course she found him handsome—she had eyes, after all, but that in no way made him her boyfriend. Nor would it. They had a barista-customer relationship that would never go any further than a flirtatious smile now and then—and Kate was perfectly fine with that.

Stepping up to the petite blonde manning the register, she placed her order for a soy latte with two pumps of sugar-free vanilla before handing over her debit card and drumming her fingertips against the counter. Kate watched the man behind the counter moved over to prepare the breakfast sandwiches that had been ordered after placing one of the cups of coffee they ordered at the pickup counter. After passing back her card and receipt, the blonde stepped over to the coffee machine and Kate tried to hide her frown. So much for extra delicious coffee on a less-than-ideal morning.

With a heavy exhale, Kate wandered over towards the pickup counter, trying her best to keep her distance from the trio of men she estimated to be several years her junior. The frat boy contingent was discussing something about the prior night or, perhaps, given their state, earlier that morning. All Kate needed to hear was something about someone's breasts being "slammin'" before she tuned them out and focused instead on the traffic building outside the window.

Just a few minutes passed before the blonde female called out her name and Kate turned to grab her cup. Almost simultaneously, Rick delivered a paper bag with breakfast sandwiches to the pickup counter. Their eyes met, and he nodded in acknowledgment of her, but absent was his usual grin. Too focused on getting her cup of precious caffeine and being on her way, Kate didn't take much notice other than to nod back.

Cradling the cup close to her chest, Kate sidled her way through the tight space, trying her best to get around the "bros" quickly, but it was difficult as they were making their way through the space with reckless abandon. One of them retrieved their bag of food while another spoke loudly at him. Obviously annoyed, the man with the food bag shoved the other, who stumbled backwards, flinging out one arm which, most unfortunately, slammed into Kate's chest. Her coffee cup was knocked from her hand spilling steaming liquid across her hand and jacket. When the cup landed on the floor, its contents exploded upwards and coated her boots along with the surrounding floor.

Immediately, silence fell across the shop and for fifteen seconds no one said anything. Then, the trio of men began to laugh. The man holding the food commented, "Dude, look what you did?"

"Oops." He laughed and then the three of them left without ever looking back or apologizing.

Cursing inwardly, Kate gazed down at the floor and at her coffee-covered handed, momentarily too stunned by the rudeness of the men to react in any other way. Fortunately, she did not have to, because not a moment later Rick was by her side with a rag in hand saying, "Here. Let me."

Kate glanced over at him, somewhat stunned. He was at her side barely a few seconds after the incident. Had he leapt over the counter to come to her aid? That would have been…unexpected. "I…it's fine," she said on instinct. As much as those men had been assholes, no permanent damage was done. Her trench coat was water resistant and, thankfully, already a chestnut brown color. Her boots would also wipe off. She only needed some napkins for her hands.

"I'm so sorry," Rick said before dropping to his knees. He then pick up her now empty cup and started to mop up what had spilled around her.

"It's not your fault; you didn't crash into me." She promised before walking to the nearby counter and grabbing a handful of napkins to dab at her hands and onto her jacket.

"Can I…can I get you something? A wet paper towel?"

She glanced up at him and shook her head. "No, I'm fine, but thank you. I'll just, ah, go wash my hands in the bathroom."

After dumping her wadded up soiled napkins into the nearest trashcan, Kate walked back to the restroom tucked in the corner of the shop. She soaped her hands and rinsed them only to notice some of the coffee had splashed onto the sleeve of her cream colored blouse. That was less than ideal, but it was possible the mark would come out when she did laundry. At least the stain was only on the very edge.

A minute later Kate exited the restroom and found Rick practically blocking her path to the door, a take-away cup of coffee in his hand. "Here; a replacement."

"Oh." She gazed up at his sheepish grin with no small amount of surprise. She had not expected that, especially with other patrons now waiting in line. She reached out and took the cup, making sure she had a solid grip on it. "You didn't have to do that." She was glad he did, though; she would get her extra-delicious coffee after all.

He bobbed his head. "I insist. I hope your day continues better than it started."

She offered him a small smile. "Thanks, Rick; you have a good day, too."

Stepping back onto the streets of New York, she found that the mist had turned into a drizzle, but Kate didn't mind. Though she did walk a bit quicker than normal the next half block to the subway stop, the soft smile didn't leave her face; maybe that day would be a good day after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**TWO**

"Good afternoon, Kate."

The detective almost startled when she was greeted barely inside the door to Starbucks. Looking to her left she saw Rick, the barista, dressed in his traditional outfit of a green baseball cap and matching apron. In his hand he held a rag and he appeared to be in the process of wiping down tables. "Hi." She returned. "I don't usually see you in the afternoons."

He shrugged. "Picked up an extra shift. Your usual?"

"Um, yes. Please."

He nodded to her and then hurried back around the counter with rag in hand. As he washed his hands before preparing her drink, she stepped up to the register and handed over her debit card. Then, after paying, she gazed around the café patiently while waiting for her drink. At the three p.m. hour the café was about one third full of patrons, all of whom had laptops propped up in front of them. She presumed many of them to be students getting ready for the final weeks of school that semester; thank god she no longer had to deal with that.

Kate casually made her way to the pickup counter and watched Rick finish off her drink. In the month since the spilled coffee incident she felt that they had become reasonable closer—or as close as one could become to their barista. In addition to morning greetings, they usually made one or two other comments to each other about superficial things like the weather or sports, since they both turned out to be Mets fans. Though the conversations were far from intimate, Kate found herself increasingly more disappointed on the mornings she did not face his ever-present smile.

Instead of passing her cup across the pickup counter, Kate watched as Rick walked back around to the seating area to give it to her. She presumed this was because he was going to continue cleaning up the tables, except he did not have his rag with him—only her cup. Not thinking much of it, she reached out for the drink, thanked him, and then turned back to the counter to reach for a napkin. When she turned back towards the exit, he remained in front of her looking slightly uneasy.

"Um…I just…I was wondering…." He began, wiping his hands against his apron a few times before looking up at her. "I don't want to, um, make things weird or anything, but I was wondering if maybe you wanted to get coffee some time. I mean someplace else. Not here, where I work. But, like, if I would meet you for coffee somewhere and we could, uh, talk."

Kate's brow furrowed at his stammer-filled, rambling statement. "Are you…asking me on a date?"

The man's face flushed instantly and the tips of his ears took on a reddish hue. "Um, kind of—wait. No." He briefly shut his eyes, shook his head, and then gazed at her steadily as though he had just reset his brain. "Yes, I am asking you on a date. How about Saturday?"

Kate couldn't help but smile. He was so nervous about asking her out! It was rather adorable and completely unexpected. Apparently Lanie was correct when she assessed that Rick came to her aide so quickly when the coffee spilled on her because he liked her. He, unfortunately, had bad timing. "I'm sorry; I can't."

Rick's expression immediately turned to one that reminded her of a puppy's if he had just been smacked on the nose for soiling the rug. "It's fine; just forget it."

Her heart clenched in her chest; she never meant to make him feel bad! Quickly, she tried to clarify the situation. "No, it's—I mean, I already have a commitment Saturday. The NYPD is sponsoring a 5K for suicide awareness and prevention. But, um, you could come with me if you want."

She wasn't asking him out—she really wasn't. The event was for charity and awareness so the more attendees they had, the more awareness they would receive. And, who knew? Maybe she would learn a bit more about her mysterious blue-eyed barista.

The man's brow wrinkled. "I'm not much of a runner."

Kate shook her head. "It's a run-walk. We could walk together; no big deal."

He nodded, though tentatively. "Um, is there, like, an entry fee or something?"

Again, she shook her head. "Don't worry about that—you can walk on the Twelfth's team, but you'll have to wear one of our shirts; is that okay?"

"I think I can handle that."

She nodded at his smile before grazing her eyes over his shoulders and torso, mentally figuring. "Size large? Extra-large?"

"Extra-large to be safe. Are…are you…a police officer?"

"Detective." She replied, studying his face curiously. He asked the question as though one would say, "Are you a murderer?" which made the back of her neck prickle slightly. Generally, only criminals were set on edge by law enforcement. As he had been steadily employed at that Starbucks for nine months, she very much doubted he was a hardened felon, but it still made her curious.

He shook his head. "I didn't know."

She nodded. "Well now you do. Nine fifteen Saturday morning? Outside the Twelfth Precinct; we're all meeting there."

He gave her a nod. "Then I'll be there. Thanks Kate."

"Thank you for participating." She returned. Then, after saluting him with her cup, she turned towards the exit, off to start her day.

* * *

On the morning of the 5K, Kate stood outside her place of employment casually grazing her eyes over the sidewalk waiting for her barista friend to arrive. Friend—right. But was he even that? Acquaintance seemed more appropriate and even that may have been a stretch. She barely knew anything about the man other than his first name, but they were about to walk three miles together. Maybe she'd learn more. The one thing she definitely wanted to learn was why he seemed to be startled when he found out she was in law enforcement.

Kate tucked her thumbs in and out of the thumbholes on her running jacket as a nervous habit while waiting. The morning was not terribly cool, and had she been running the calf-length leggings and t-shirt would have definitely been sufficient, but as she was walking she figured the extra layer was warranted. It was still only April; fortunately they still had a few more crisp weekend mornings left before the heat of summer set in.

At ten past the hour Kate spotted Rick approaching and she lifted her arm to wave to him. He nodded in acknowledgement and their eyes met briefly.

Huh. She had not previously seen him out of his uniform, which included a green baseball cap, and now that she had she realized there was something familiar about his floppy brown hair and the bright blue of his eyes beneath his brow line. Very familiar. She was almost positive she had seen him other than at Starbucks…but where?

The first thing that jumped to her mind was a case. Was he a witness? Or—oh dear—a suspect? If he had been a suspect in the past it would explain his strange reaction to her profession. Perhaps he had some unfavorable brushes with the law. Perhaps he—no. No. She would give him the benefit of the doubt. Not everyone she interacted with as a criminal; she just happened to come across more than her fair share because of her job. Perhaps he had been a victim and because of a loophole his aggressor was not brought to justice; that could reasonably give him a negative attitude towards the police. If that was the case, she would happily show him that there were still many cops—herself included—working for the good of the victims.

"Hey. Good morning." She greeted him with a smile when he stepped up in front of her.

He nodded in her direction. "Good morning. I almost brought coffee but I thought that might be too cliché."

She chuckled lightly. "Don't worry about it. I would think you'd want to be away from all things coffee when you're not working."

"Nah. I don't mind."

She stopped towards the building and waved him along. "C'mon. Your shirt's inside; let's grab it before we head out to the start line."

The man followed her inside and she walked through the crowd of people towards the intake desk, where she'd left her water bottle and Rick's bright yellow Twelfth precinct t-shirt. She also wore a similar one, but it was beneath her jacket. She passed over the shirt and he pulled it on overtop his navy long sleeve shirt.

As they headed out the door, they ran into Kate's colleague, Detective Kevin Ryan, and Kate did the instructions, calling the barista her friend, Rick. Unlike her friend Lanie would have, Ryan did not give her a suspicious sideways glance or obnoxiously elbow her in the ribs. He merely shook Rick's hand and moved out onto the sidewalk with the rest of the crowd.

"So, um, how long have you been a cop?"

"About four years; I went to the academy right out of college and I've been a detective for almost a year now." She explained.

He bobbed his head. "Impressive."

It was, particularly considering she was the youngest female to do so, but she didn't want to toot her own horn in that way. Instead, she decided to use the fact that he broached the subject to delicately ask the question she'd been meaning to. "You, um, seemed a bit concerned when you realized I was a cop. The other day, I mean."

"Oh no. Not at all. I think I was just confused because I'd never seen you in uniform, but-"

"Detectives don't wear uniforms—except during special events or ceremonies."

"Right." He nodded. "And in case you're wondering—I've never been arrested. You probably don't want to be friends with anyone that has."

Kate let out a small laugh. She actually had never even thought of that, but since he brought the subject up, she supposed she wouldn't exactly mind depending on the crime and when it took place. If she found out one of her friends committed a petty theft when they were in their early teens, she could not rightfully hold it against them if they were an upstanding citizen as an adult. However, if they had committed any crimes in the recent past, that would have been something to seriously consider.

"You know I never thought about it…maybe, maybe not. Probably not if they'd been convicted of a felony for sure, but you know I wouldn't be able to find out—I don't even know your last name," she said as she glanced over at him with a sweet smile. It was a rather direct way of finding out that detail, but smooth enough to work (or so she hoped).

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "It's Castle; Rick Castle."

"Detective Kate Beckett." She responded, realizing she had not given her last name either.

"It's nice to meet you, Kate Beckett." He held out his hand and just as the crowd slowed down when they neared the starting line for the 5K, Kate slipped hers into it and gave it a hearty shake.

* * *

"So…do you have any siblings?"

They were about two K's into the race and the pack of participants was finally starting to loosen up enough that Kate and Rick could walk casually side by side without being jostled together. They had been mostly silent other than making comments on their fellow racers—like the dog wearing sunglasses in addition to a race t-shirt—and she thought asking about siblings was a decent enough way to break the ice and get to know each other slightly better.

"Oh. No."

His answer was clipped but she maintained a light air with her voice. "Me neither. Did you mind it growing up?"

He shook his head. "No, it was fine."

"Same. I guess it would have been okay to have one or two siblings—a slightly bigger family—but I kind of liked it just the three of us."

The man beside her said nothing for the next five minutes. In fact, he noticeably drifted further away from her as they continued their walk. Now, another person could have almost comfortably fit between them. He also walked with his arms folded over her chest.

Kate recognized the closed off gesture as it was one of her signature moves. If anyone—an unfamiliar male, especially—drifted too close to a subject she was not comfortable speaking about she erected the extra layer of armor on her walls and immediately changed the subject. Realizing she triggered something for him, but not knowing what, Kate decided the best thing to do was to apologize, as she would have often liked others to pay her the same courtesy.

"Sorry if I upset you by asking about your family."

Rick looked over at her, almost startled at her words, as though he had been deep in thought. "Wha—no. Oh, no. No—you're perfect—fine, I mean fine." He corrected quickly, a slight rose tint appearing on his cheeks. "It's me. I don't…I don't talk about my childhood much."

Kate nodded, understanding these sentiments fully. Nothing bad had happened during her childhood. Actually, it had been wonderful, but recalling such happy memories in the shadow of her mother's untimely death made the gaping hole in her chest ache even more. Sure, there were some times when she would share an anecdote or two with her coworkers, but those times were few and far between. If Rick's childhood strayed towards the not-so-happy she could understand his hesitation to share even more.

"That's fine." She promised him. "Forget it brought it up."

"I know you were just trying to be conversational, normal. I just…The thing is…I was kidnapped as a child."

Kate sucked in a breath and nearly stopped walking. The realization felt like cold water pouring over her head. _Kidnapped._ A little boy with piercing blue eyes and hair flopping over his forehead. _That_ was why she recognized him but…how? He had to be at least five years older than her if not more. Depending on when he was kidnapped—which she was most certainly not going to ask—she would have been far too young to remember. Perhaps she'd seen a "Missing" pamphlet when going through old police files.

"Oh Rick; I'm sorry." No wonder he didn't want to talk about it! Jesus, how traumatic. Her cop brain wanted to pepper him with questions: How old was he? Where was he taken from? How long was he missing? Was he taken by a family member or a stranger? Did he escape or did the police recover him? Of course, she could ask none of those as it was entirely inappropriate and she did not want him to dredge up old memories to placate her curiosity.

"Don't be. I…I shouldn't have mentioned it." A mirthless laugh escaped his lips. "I usually don't, actually, but I…you just seem easy to talk to—sorry." He apologized the moment the sentence left his mouth. "That's probably weird for me to say, isn't it?"

She chuckled softly. "Not weird, Rick; very nice." She'd heard it before, particularly when she was in her patience-with-the-victim mode. Her CO had told her many times that her "bedside manner" (so to speak) was on par with some of the best he'd ever seen, which she found flattering, but in the end it was simple. Kate understood victims because she had been on herself; she had been on that side of the aisle and thus knew how to treat victims, because she knew how she wished she had been treated.

"I'm, ah, actually not very good at this."

She glanced over and found him wringing his hands together, a grimace on his face as they continued to walk. "What? Conversations?"

"No. Yes. Kind of. My therapist says I need to put myself out there more—make more friends, ask women on dates, be decisive…but it's hard for me."

"I think you're doing fine." Truly, if he had not revealed it, she would never have guessed he had anything sinister in his past. Sure, he came across as a little awkward, particular in the way he asked her out, but that was hardly a trait unique to him—or unique to someone who'd had a traumatic childhood. She had been asked out by many a flustered male and many were fine after a date or two. Others weren't but she tried not to judge them too harshly for it; not everyone was born suave or debonair.

For the next few blocks they continued their walk in silence, but Rick did appear noticeably relaxed. He even drifted back towards her again, close enough so that their swinging arms brushed together now and then as they made their way through the final kilometer of the event.

At the end, after picking up water cups and orange slices, they walked a half block down the sidewalk, away from the majority of the other race finishers, and Rick said to her, "So, um, did you want to get that coffee some time you're free?"

Though she tried to fight it, Kate knew her brow rose a few millimeters in surprised. Oh. She should have seen this coming, given how their morning was going, yet she was still slightly surprised. Now, she had a problem. He had just confessed to her something bad in his past _and_ had said he had trouble doing things like asking women on dates. She didn't want to go out with him, but her reasoning had nothing to do with him, as he had been nothing but kind to her.

"Well, I-"

"Shit!" He cursed immediately, presumably taking her hesitation and lack of immediate affirmative answer as her shutting down his request. He skimmed his hand over his brow and began to pace the sidewalk. "I messed it up, right? I said too much. You don't want to go out with the guy with baggage…"

"No, not at all. It's me."

He gave her a look that clearly said he understood her comment to be pity, but that was far from the truth.

"No really." She continued. "I just made detective and I'm working a lot of hours trying to prove myself worthy. I…I don't really have time to date anyone right now."

Ok that wasn't a _total_ lie. She had been a detective for nearly a year and she really was trying to work hard at proving herself—a woman—to be worthy of such a position. Yet, that was not the full reason. In truth, she was still trying to crawl out of her mother's case and be a normal person again.

Researching her mother's murder, diving into each and every corner of the unsolved file that could possibly yield a new lead, had taken up a greater portion of the prior nine months of her life. At her lowest, most obsessed point, she was hardly eating or sleeping, just spending hours reading and re-reading the same statements, the same summary reports. When she was late for a shift and reprimanded by her CO, it all hit her: she was slowly self-destructing in her own life and that was _not_ something her mother would have wanted for her. So, as much as it broke her heart, she put the files away and had been trying to regain balance ever since.

A few months had passed since then and things were going well, but some days she still felt like an addict—wanting to reach for it, touch it, gaze at it just one more time—just one more time! But she couldn't. She knew that she couldn't. Slowly, day by day, it was becoming less of a central focus in her mind. Kate definitely wanted to get back to living—and, yes, living included dating—but she needed her head to be clear of her mother's case before she did that. Otherwise, it wasn't far to her—or to the men she would ultimately see. As kind as Rick had been to her, she just couldn't get involved with him—or anyone—until the time was right.

Once Rick looked slightly less wounded, she continued. "I just want to be honest with you, so you're not misled or that you get the wrong impression. We could still get that coffee, but I'm afraid all I can be is a friend right now."

Rick led out an audible breath and nodded his head. "Thank you for your honesty; I appreciate it."

She offered a small smile. "So…do you still want to get that coffee?"

He grinned at her. "Absolutely."

* * *

 **A/N** : Thank you all so much for your reviews/follows. The next update will be on Sunday.

Also, if anyone reads the Castle Season 9 Episodes - I wrote this week's Episode, so go check it out if you're interested!


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

Kate's eyes popped open with a gasp. Her bedroom was pitch black save the faint glow from her alarm clock on the bedside table meaning that it was the middle of the night, or perhaps very early the following morning. She held her breath, listening intently to determine what had woken her, but she heard nothing. As she shut her eyes once more, she recalled she had not been awoken by something external, but internal—a dream; a memory.

It had happened before—several times, actually. Kate had awoken in the middle of the night when her brain had processed a missing piece of a case or thought about a clue she had not searched for. As her brain was compartmentalizing that days' activities sometimes it spit out useful things; this was one of those times.

The little boy with piercing blue eyes and floppy brown hair draped over his forehea just to the left of center. His face was plastered on MISSING posters, on milk cartons and even on mailers delivered to her parents' home. Some of the images were actually two side by side: one, the original school picture and the other an age progression done in hopes that someone would recognize him years later.

 _Rick_.

He had been the victim of a kidnapping, but just not any kidnapping— _the_ kidnapping; the crime of the century that had New York and most of New England thoroughly enraptured, especially once it all fell apart.

She knew—she knew he was the little boy from that case—but the details were still fuzzy. His case had been resolved while she was still in grade school, years and years before she even thought about being a cop. She remembered only bits and pieces, the case being so significant that it stayed with her even from such a young age, but she wanted to know more—she needed to know.

Knowing sleep wouldn't return to her until she had the answers, Kate flipped the blankets off her body and reached out for her robe. She shuffled out into the kitchen of her apartment and turned on the light. While waiting for her laptop to boot up, she poured water into her electric tea kettle and retrieved a mug from the cabinet.

Cradling the warm drink to her chest, Kate logged into the NYPD database and entered her search criteria: the name of the victim and the crime accused. Unfortunately "Rick Castle Kidnapping" yielded no results. She stared at the screen, momentarily stumped, until she realized her error. He was probably in the database with his legal name, so she changed her search to Richard instead of Rick. Still, there were no results.

Kate huffed out a breath and tapped her fingertips against her tea mug. This made no sense. Even if he was not the boy she was thinking of—which she doubted—he still admitted to being kidnapped, which meant he had to be in the database somewhere. If she knew the year he was kidnapped she could have narrowed down the search, but not by much. Unfortunately, many young boys were reported missing country-wide each year.

After taking a sip of tea, Kate put the mug down and dragged her teeth over her bottom lip. Perhaps it was time to turn to the internet for a little guidance. Maybe she could find an article that would give her what she needed to pull up the police reports.

Into the browser search field she typed, "Richard Castle Kidnapping." The results were strange and definitely not at all what she was looking for, so she added the world child to her search, but still did not find what she wanted. For several moments she stared down at the screen when an idea hit her. Perhaps it was the last name throwing off her search. Maybe, he had changed it. With such a high profile case, she wouldn't have blamed him for doing so. Hell, she probably would have done so herself.

Thinking this was the key to finding the right information, Kate typed, "Richard child kidnap" into her browser, but paused before hitting the go button. Perhaps that was too vague. Surely, it would yield many results. On a whim, she added, "New York," to the end of the search field before tapping the Enter key on her keyboard.

Bingo.

 _Richard Rodgers Found Alive After Seven Years_

The article was fifteen years old, but staring right in her face was the side-by-side picture she'd dreamed about. On the left, an eleven year old boy with piercing blue eyes and flopping hair. On the right, a black and white age progression photo of what the boy would have looked like at seventeen.

"God, Rick." She sighed out as her eyes skimmed across the article. The story was actually far worse than she had remembered it.

 _Eighteen-year-old Richard Rodgers was found alive Wednesday when the bizarre case of Dr. Van Holtzman came to a deadly end. Reported missing seven years ago after disappearing from rural New Hampshire, Rodgers was recovered by police during a search for Hotlzman on his property. A statement from the local police said that Rodgers was in good condition, but would be taken to the hospital for precautionary observation. In addition to the boy, the bodies of Holtzman's other victims—all women in their early twenties—were found buried on the property. Police have not yet released a count of how many victims they found, but the police chief stated that the number was "staggering." A statement from the Rodgers family said that they were "stunned but relieved" at the recovery of Richard after so many years, and they are asking for privacy at this time._

With her hand covering her mouth, Kate continued to skim through the article, still hardly able to believe the case was real and that the friendly barista Rick was at the center of it—even if it had been fifteen years since he had been found.

Now having enough data to search for the police reports, Kate moved her mouse back to the database and typed in Rick's birth name as well as the year of the kidnapping. There, she was able to find many reports and files archived in the database. Setting her tea mug down once more, Kate leaned in closer to the screen and read each file with great interest.

According to what she gathered, Rick's mother, Martha, an actress, sent her son to New Hampshire to stay at the home of a friend while she went on tour with the show Pippen. On the afternoon he went missing, the eleven-year-old was last seen playing by the edge of a tree-filled area known as Hollander's Woods. When the boy did not return by dusk, the family he was staying with called the police and the search began.

For several days, both law enforcement and volunteers combed the area. No trace of the boy was left behind, but the body of a woman was found, half-buried beside a log. Her throat had been slashed and she had been sexually assaulted; it was estimated she had died three to five days prior to discovery. Though it was suspected at the time, it was not confirmed that the woman's murderer and the man who kidnapped Rick were one in the same until after the boy was discovered.

Jumping forward seven years, the police received an anonymous tip about suspicious activity surrounding the disappearance of a twenty-one-year-old woman. That tip lead them to Holtzman's New Hampshire property where Rick was found, less than a dozen miles from where he was taken from. Rick was found shackled in a dilapidated barn on the property and appeared well fed and without physical injury. He was able to detail the horrors of what he'd witnessed to police, including the violent murder of over two dozen women over the seven year period, and lead them to their burial sites tucked around the property.

Rick's kidnapping reports led her to examine the report on Holtzman, a psychologist who up until the point of his arrest, had been well respected in his field. As it turned out, his true personality could not have been any further from what it seemed. He was a sick, twisted individual who tortured for enjoyment. Adding that on top of the innumerable murders he committed, and the mere thought of such a man caused Kate to feel sick in her stomach.

After bouncing back and forth between police reports and articles from the internet, Kate pushed herself back from the counter on which her computer sat and sighed. The more she read about it, the clearer her memory of the case became. In fact, it was quite vivid—one conversation, anyway.

She was around twelve years old and approached her parents with a newspaper article about Rick's discovery in her petite hands. She asked why they had not found him sooner; her parents said they didn't know. Clearly the kidnapper had done well covering his tracks with the murders, so it made sense the kidnapping was covered up equally as well. When Kate asked if the young boy would be okay, she recalled that her mother sat her down and tried her best to explain.

"He'll face a lot of challenges, Katie; that's for sure." Her mother had told her. "He'll need to be acclimated to the world again slowly—even to his family. He'll need therapy and schooling for sure; it will be a difficult road for him."

"But will he be okay?" She had repeated her question.

Her mother had smiled, reached out and stroked her hair. "I hope so, sweetie; I really do."

The memory brought a tear to Kate's eye and she reached up with her right index finger to quickly brush it away. It wasn't the recollection of a conversation with her mother that caused her emotion (though that certainly didn't help) but the fact that she had great concern over a young man she had never met who turned out to be a kind, thoughtful individual.

Gazing down at the photo of the eleven-year-old boy on her screen, her heart broke for him once again. He had missed so much. Seven years at any point in one's life would be a sizable chunk, but from eleven to eighteen? He missed the end of the innocent of childhood, awkward early teen years, and all of high school. He missed first kisses, first dates, and school dances. He didn't go to any football games or participate in any school plays. He had no summer vacations or lazy afternoons out on Coney Island; none of it.

Her tea now forgotten and cold, Kate began pacing her tight kitchen area as she thought about the things her mother said about Rick's recovery. He mentioned a therapist, which presumably meant he was attending presently, but had he gone regularly for the prior decade and a half? Given the disturbing scenario surrounding his disappearance, it would not have been shocking. As she did not detect anything juvenile or simple about his behavior, she also assumed he'd obtained at least some level of schooling.

The more she thought about it, the more only one conclusion became clear: Rick was extraordinary. Had he not mentioned the kidnapping, she never would have known that his childhood was any different than anyone else's. He was extremely impressive and she looked forward to getting to know him a bit better.

* * *

Monday morning Kate paused before entering Starbucks. It was her first shift since finding out the truth about Rick's past which meant it was the first time she was seeing him. Through the glass doors she could just barely see him busy at the espresso machine behind the counter. Grazing her teeth over her bottom lip, she observed him silently.

For the prior twenty-four hours Kate had thought of little else other than Rick and the case that forever altered his childhood. She did not want it to affect the way she saw him, her friend, but it was almost impossible for it not too; the knowledge was just too earthshattering.

The more she thought about what he went through, the more impressed with him she was. Sure, he had been nervous and awkward in the way he asked her out initially, but given what had happened it made perfect sense. He spent the majority of his formative years shackled in a barn as a hostage with his only interaction being with a psychopathic killer. He had every right to be one hundred percent abnormal, but yet he was not.

In that moment, Kate decided once and for all that she would not reveal what she knew about him. If he told her on his own—great. She would happily listen to any part of the story he wanted to tell. Otherwise, she would not call him out on it. She would not want anyone dredging up memories of her mother's murder without her permission and thus she would pay him the same courtesy.

Stepping into the Starbucks, Kate walked up to the cashier and ordered her usual drink. As there was no one in front of her, Rick smiled at her and she smiled back before making her way over to the pickup counter. "Thanks again for coming to the 5K on Saturday." She called out to him.

"No problem at all; it was nice. Actually, um." He paused while steaming the milk as the loud noise would have made it quite difficult to speak over. Once it was finished, he poured the milk into her drink and continued. "I don't know what kind of movies you like, but there's a classic sci-fi marathon on Thursday night."

She arched a curious eyebrow at him. "Classic sci fi meaning cheesy?"

Nervousness flitted across his expression. "Well-"

She chuckled, not wanting to tease him too much. "The cheesier the better, actually."

His expression brightened. "You wanna go?"

"I'm on shift until eight."

"That's okay; I think there's a nine pm showing. I'll look it up and call you."

As they had exchanged numbers after the race two days prior, she nodded and agreement. "Sounds good; I'll see you then if not before."

"Absolutely; have a great day, Kate."

She told him to do the same before taking her drink and walking out the door. Rick Rodgers, kidnapping victim, disappeared from her mind for the first time in over a day as she thought happily about her movie get-together with Rick Castle, Starbucks barista.


	4. Chapter 4

**FOUR**

"Yo Beckett; glad you could make it."

Kate rolled her eyes at her partner Esposito's backhanded insult. "So I'm a few minutes late—sue me. Traffic was a disaster getting here."

"There's a car fire in midtown." The final member of her team, Ryan, informed her. "Traffic is a mess everywhere."

Kate nodded, not having known about the incident previously. Then, turning back to Esposito, she nodded towards the building they stood in front of. "Vic inside?"

"Yep; waiting for you."

The female detective donned a pair of blue latex gloves and followed her coworkers inside. As they made their way to the first floor apartment, Esposito explained that their victim was twenty-three year old Ashley Haynes, a waitress slash struggling actress. She lived with a roommate, who after returning home from a weekend trip to Florida, discovered the gruesome scene and called the authorities.

"You've interviewed the roommate?"

"I took her statement, but she was extremely shaken up, so I had unis take her downtown; we'll talk to her in a bit after she calms down." Ryan explained.

Kate nodded and ducked under the police tape draped across the entryway to 1C. Just inside the door, she sucked in a breath as she took in the grisly scene. The young blonde girl was sprawled out on the floor between a sofa and television stand. Judging from the broken and spilled beer bottle on the floor and the overturned nature of an end table and its accompanying lamp, a struggle had taken place. Kate did not need her medical examiner friend to tell her cause of death; the vicious slash across Ashely's throat and surrounding spatter of blood did that for her.

Both as a rookie and as a detective, Kate had seen many a crime scene. She no longer felt ill or nauseous at the sight of blood or other bodily fluids, but some crimes still made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. This was one of them.

Ashley wore a soft pink sleeveless top. From the way it was bunched around her hips it was hard to tell its original length, but judging by the delicate rose print of the fabric and the eyelet lace around the collar and sleeve edges, Kate presumed the garment to be a nightgown. From the way her body was posed, it was clear Ashely wore no underwear. Kate did not see any in the immediate area which meant one of two things: the girl had simply chosen not to wear panties to bed or they had been taken as a trophy by her attacker.

"Sexual assault?" Kate asked simply to the ME.

Lanie shook her head. "Can't tell without an exam, but it doesn't look good, does it?"

Kate said nothing. She cautiously stepped around the body to observe the scene from a new angle. From that direction, the blood spatter was even more prominent. "The killer would have been sprayed." She concluded, not bothering to make it a question; she had visited enough scenes to know.

"Absolutely—the knife hit the carotid and blood gushed everywhere. No way he or she didn't get it on him—all over, really."

Kate turned to one of the uniforms at the scene and said, "Make sure all dumpsters in the surrounding area are searched." Then, she turned back to Lanie. "Estimated TOD?"

"Sometime Saturday night, I imagine."

"Fits with the witness statement." Ryan chimed in. "Roommate said she got a text from Ashley midafternoon on Saturday, but had not heard from her since."

Kate considered all the information before her and considered their next course of action. "Okay, so that means we're already a day and a half behind this thing, so we need to get moving. Ryan, check with the super about video surveillance. Given the state of this building, I'm not hopeful, so check the area for any other surveillance: ATM's, convenience stores, street cams—anything."

"You got it." The detective nodded before taking his orders and leaving the scene.

The female then turned to the remaining detective in the room. "We've got to canvass this building, see if there are any witnesses."

"We're short on unis right now because of that car fire." He reminded her.

She nodded. "Then we'll have to help." Though it took time she could have dedicated elsewhere, she actually liked canvassing, especially if it found them a useful witness.

* * *

Half an hour into their canvassing, Kate was less hopeful. They had spoken to four of the five remaining residents of the first floor, but all of those people either had not been home or claimed to have heard nothing. The fifth resident was one immediately next to Ashley and thus the most likely to be helpful, but no one answered the door, which meant they needed to check again later.

Heading up to the second floor meant their likelihood of finding a witness was even lower, but not impossible. Since Ryan confirmed the apartment building had no security cameras, Kate was willing to interview everyone to find even the smallest of leads. As apartment 2A did not answer their knock, they headed to 2B, where Kate received a most unexpected surprise.

"Kate!" Noticeable surprise crossed Rick's face when he appeared in the open doorway.

Though she generally fought to keep a professional exterior no matter what she saw behind a potential witness's apartment door, she failed at that moment. Her expression fell and she cursed internally; this was definitely not how she expected the day to go. She had taken her latte from the barista bright and early that morning, but it appeared he was done with his shift and now at home. Also, he was a potential witness.

"Hi… We, um, need to ask you some questions. Official police business." She pulled back her blazer to reveal the badge on her hip. Then, she turned to her companion and explained. "My friend Rick feeds my coffee addition; he works at the Starbucks near my place."

Esposito nodded. "Gotcha. Name, sir? And do you live here alone?"

"Rick Castle and no, I live with my mother, Martha."

"Is she at home?"

"No, she's been on tour for three weeks….What's…what's this about?" he asked, his eyes turning immediately to Kate.

The female's skin bristled when Rick mentioned his mother was on tour. Immediately, her mind flashed back to his kidnapping report. _On tour with Pippen_. Her gut told her this conversation was not going to end well.

Kate cleared her throat and said, "The woman in 1C—Ashley Haynes—did you know her?"

He shook his head and his brow knit. "I'm sorry I don't know the name. I don't think I knew her." For his benefit, Kate held up the photograph of the victim's face on her phone from earlier that morning. "Oh, um, I saw her in the vestibule a few times, I guess. Never said more than hello. What happened to her?"

"She was killed Saturday night. Her throat was slashed," Esposito said clinically.

Rick took a half step back and his eyes began darting back and forth between the two detectives. Kate saw the flash of panic in his eyes and fought to keep from cringing. Yep, this was going to end badly. Just as she was about to step in words exploded from his mouth.

"Jesus. And you…you think that I…just because I…and that-"

"Rick." She tried to calm him, but the damage was already done. Esposito moved his hand towards the weapon on his hip and he stepped forward in a challenge.

"Just because you what?"

"Espo." Kate gently put her hand on his shoulder and, when he looked at her, she shook her head. "Just let me talk to him a minute."

"Beckett."

His voice was warning but she shook him of. "It's okay; I know him." She had one hundred percent confidence that Rick had nothing to do with the horrible crimes that took place in his building. He was a man broken by his past, not inspired by it. Still, they needed to follow protocol.

As Rick had backed his way into his apartment, raking his fingers violently through his hair, Kate followed, though tentatively. "Rick. Rick. Look at me, Rick." She requested a third time before he did so, wide eyed. "It's okay; you're okay. You're not a suspect. We just need to interview everyone in this building. I didn't even know you lived here until you opened the door a minute ago."

Still, the terror boiled in his eyes. "But…she was…"

"It's okay." She continued in her soothing voice. This was not her understanding-the-victim tone, but actually more closely resembled her talking-a-jumper-off-the-ledge tone. She dared not come in contact with him, but did inch ever closer. "I know what you're thinking, but that's not the case. I know, Rick. I know who you are; what happened to you as a child."

A different type of fear spilled into his gaze and his chest began to rise and fall with more rapid intervals. "I…how…how long?"

"Since the 5K. I recognized you, but didn't know why. As soon as you said you were kidnapped I was able to figure it out. I didn't tell anyone, though; not even my partner."

Almost a month had passed since her heart-wrenching discovery and she remained tight-lipped. She had wanted to tell Lanie, especially with the ME's continued teasing about her "barista boyfriend," but out of respect for Rick she couldn't; the secret was not hers and thus she could not be the one to tell it.

When Rick nodded, his mouth still agape, she continued. "I'm sorry, but I do have to tell him now. You understand that, right? Because of how you reacted you made yourself look guilty."

He dropped his chin to his chest and rasped out, "Yeah."

"Now we just have a few more questions and they're perfectly routine. Would you like some water first?"

"N-no…I'm okay. I'm fine." He folded his arms over his chest, sniffed, and then set his shoulders, prepared to accept whatever questions she had to ask him.

Kate gave him a half smile and turned back towards the doorway, beckoning her colleague inside. When Espo stood behind her, she continued. "Where were you Saturday night—say between eight and midnight?"

"Satur…Oh, I was at work."

"Starbucks?"

"No. Bartending. I worked seven to close…got home around three."

She jotted down the information in her notebook along with the rest of the statements she had collected so far. "And did you see anything out of the ordinary at that time?"

"No."

"Okay. That's all we needed. Thanks."

Kate flipped her notebook shut and turned to leave the apartment. Once Esposito was out in the hall, she turned back towards Rick as he wrung his hands together, his chin still connected to his chest. He looked…smaller and she imagined briefly what he must have looked like at eighteen on the day he was rescued; her heart broke for him.

"Rick?" she said softly. He glanced up, tentative. "I'll call you later, okay?" Though he didn't speak, he did manage to jerk his head in a short nod. She smiled, thanked him, and then shut his apartment door gently before continuing on her canvass.

* * *

Due to the murder case, Kate was unable to get a chance to properly speak with Rick until a few days after the incident in his apartment. She did call him that evening and saw him the following morning at Starbucks, but it wasn't the same. They needed to have a real conversation about it, and she wanted to, but finding their victim's killer took precedence.

Unfortunately, without any witnesses or quality surveillance footage, the case quickly hit a dead end. Kate hated that. She hated being trapped into a spot with no results; it made her feel like a failure and she hated to fail. Rationally she knew not every case could be solved, but the prospect of not solving this case bit extra hard due to its brutality.

Finally, on Thursday evening after her shift she made time for Rick. She told him she would meet him anywhere he wanted to talk, but he requested she come to his apartment as he felt the most comfortable there; she could not as that she blamed him. When she arrived, he offered her a drink, which she politely refused and instead they stood in silent for a few moments. Not wanting to stare at him, Kate tentatively observed the space and found it tight, but standard for an apartment in that area.

From just inside the hallway door, Kate felt she could see almost everything the apartment had to offer. To her left was an L-shaped kitchen tucked in one corner. Opposite it, a worn wooden table with four mismatched chairs. Directly in front of them was a cramped seating area with a sofa, a green cloth recliner which was threadbare in many spots, and a television set on an oak stand. Stuffed into the corner of the room was a double bed made with white sheets and a maroon blanket. Finally, at the far right of the apartment she saw two closed doors, which she assumed led to a bedroom and bathroom. If she was forced to guess, she imagined Rick took the bed in the apartment's main living area and he allowed his mother the only bedroom. She briefly wondered if they had always lived together, but then pushed the thought from her mind, knowing it was not relevant to their discussion.

"I'm, ah, a little surprised you're here." Rick broke the silence with a quite confession

"Why's that?"

He shrugged and looked away from her as he made his way towards the couch. She took this as an invitation to follow and sat at the end opposite from him. "Just figured once you knew you wouldn't want to be involved."

"And why would that be?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically. He didn't respond. "Rick, listen, I'm sorry it all had to come out the way it did; I promise that was not my intention. I am glad it's out there, though; I felt bad hiding the fact that I knew from you."

He glanced up at her. "Why didn't you say anything?"

She shrugged. "I didn't want to upset you. You told me you were kidnapped and that was more than enough. Figured if you wanted me to know you'd tell me in your own time."

He nodded and gazed down towards his lap where he picked at one thumb nail with his opposite index finger. "But, um, you know…all of it?"

"I read the police report and a few articles, but I highly doubt that's all of it." Since his kidnapper was killed during a struggle with police, the investigating officers had not delved into his case as thoroughly as they would have were they going to prosecute. At that point, he was safe and found and they were probably trying not to traumatize him further, so a superficial level questioning was sufficient.

When Rick said nothing, she continued. "I remembered the case. I was too little when you were taken, but about twelve when they found you. My mother and I talked about it. The case stuck with me over the years, because I remember thinking that if I was put in the same situation as you were, I wasn't sure if I would survive."

He looked up at her, as confident as she had seen him in the prior week. "You would. You would because you have to."

His strong tone made her skin prickle. What he had seen, what he had went through—god, she couldn't fathom it. She was certain she would have had a nervous breakdown if it had been her—and that was as an adult! As a child? She feared she would have been irreparably damaged.

Shaking her head gently she told him, "I'm sorry. That wasn't meant to be an invitation for you to talk about it. You don't have to if you don't want to."

He nodded, skimmed his hand over his jaw and gazed off blankly towards the television. "Thanks. Not now…maybe another time."

Kate said nothing, but nodded. She was more than willing to follow his lead. If he never broached the subject again, she would be okay with that. Well, she certainly would wonder, and the investigator inside her would be displeased, but she would respect his wishes and continue to be his friend.

After a few moments of silence he looked over at her tentatively. "Did you ever find the person who hurt that girl downstairs—Ashley?"

She shook her head. "No, not yet; we're still looking."

He nodded and turned away from her. "I hope you find him."

* * *

 **A/n:** thank you all so much for your comments/feedback - i'm so glad to see you're enjoying this twist on Hollander's Woods


	5. Chapter 5

**FIVE**

"So how's it going with your barista boyfriend?"

Kate's eyes flicked up to meet the dark eyes of her medical examiner friend, before turning her attention back to the grilled chicken salad before her. Toying with the plastic fork between her index finger and thumb, Kate reminded Lanie, "He's not my boyfriend. How many times do I have to tell you that before you believe me?"

"I'd believe you if it was true. You hang out with him don't you?"

Kate shrugged. "Occasionally. We've been to a movie. We get coffee."

"You went to that food festival in Brooklyn."

Kate nodded in acknowledgement of the event from two weeks prior. "Right. But none of that is intimate it's just…friendly."

Lanie hummed and pushed away what remained of her quiche. "And he's an extremely handsome guy. Don't deny it–I saw him at that 5K."

Kate cleared her throat and took a sip from her water bottle before looking pointedly at her friend. "I told you: I'm not dating right now. I'm just…not in that headspace. Besides even if I was going to date, I'm not sure I'd be dating Rick."

"What does that mean?"

Oh well now there was a question with a very complex answer. As she had promised to keep his secret, Kate could not reveal to Lanie the full truth about Rick and thus explaining her standpoint was complicated. Even she wasn't sure she fully comprehended where she stood.

Rick was a great guy—a really great guy. He was polite, thoughtful, and kind. She never had a bad time when they spent time together. Therein was the problem—she never had a bad time, but she also never had an amazing time either. Something was just…off. Of course, she had a pretty good idea of what that "something" was. Namely, the extraordinarily traumatic childhood he had, but it showed up in the most peculiar of ways.

For instance, two Saturdays earlier Kate had planned to spend the majority of the day doing laundry, tidying her apartment and perhaps reading a book, but then Rick had called her and asked if she wanted to go to the food festival for lunch. He even apologized for the last minute invite, saying he had just found out about it and thought they could go together. She agreed and the first forty-five minutes were enjoyable. They spoke about the vendors they passed and their food preferences and then seemingly at random, Rick shut down. He only gave one word responses to her questions and seemed generally distant and thus she ended their afternoon together on a disappointing note.

Similar instances did not occur every time they hung out together, but more often than she would have preferred. At the food fair, she almost called him out on it, wanting to know if he had seen or heard something that triggered a negative memory, but she did not want to embarrass or upset him. As long as they were just friends it didn't really matter, however such behaviors did give her pause when considering if she and Rick could ever be anything more—particularly considering that issue wasn't her only reasoning.

"I'm not sure if I'm really attracted to him. He's good looking, like you said, but…you know me–I'm usually drawn towards really driven people, but Rick is so…casual."

Lanie arched a skeptical eyebrow at her friend. "You mean since he's a grown ass man who works at a Starbucks."

Kate bit down on her bottom lip as she gazed across the park where they sat eating their lunch. Such a thought made her feel so shallow, but it was true at least in part. She was driven towards career- and goal-oriented men because they tended to appreciate, or at least accept, that she was also a career and goal driven person. Rick did seem content in his position, or maybe it wasn't so much content as it was safe, and that was fine for him, but maybe not for _them_.

"It's not that. Okay it's kind of that. But I don't think I know enough about him right now."

"Fair enough, but don't write him off yet, Kate; he might surprise you."

She eyed her friend curiously. "Why are you so excited for me to date Rick?"

Lanie shrugged. "I'm not, necessarily. I'm excited because you seem excited—or, at least interested. When was the last time you hung out with the same man consecutively for two months?"

Kate opened her mouth to respond, but then realized she couldn't because she did not actually recall the last time she had done as Lanie asked. Instead she said, "I…I just haven't been dating."

"So maybe when you are ready again you'll be seeing Rick in a different light."

* * *

"Hey…you're early."

"Sorry." Kate apologized as she stepped inside Rick's apartment. She had overestimated the time it would take her to get from her meeting at 1PP to Rick's as she had never made that journey before. As she hated to be late, she saw this to be the preferred outcome; however, it was really only by ten minutes.

"It's no problem. I just lost track of time when I was working on some stuff. Give me a minute to clean up and then we can go."

"Sure; take your time." Kate shut the door behind her and waited patiently as Rick walked over towards the kitchen and the clinking of some dishes and glasses could be heard. Just a few days had passed since her conversation with Lanie. Other than getting coffee before her shift, this was the first time she was seeing Rick since. They were supposed to go to a movie, but she could not help but wonder if she should ask about his plans for his life, the future, or if it was far too soon in their friendship for that.

Before she could think about it much further, she caught sight of a peculiar item siting on the wooden dining table that made her brow furrow and all other thoughts disappear from her mind. "Is that…a typewriter?" She had, of course, seen one before, but it had been quite some time, and they just seemed so out of place.

He chuckled, presumably at her stunned tone. "Yes…go ahead, judge me."

Unable to suppress her curiosity, Kate walked over and examined the device. Yes, it was definitely a typewriter. Judging by the stack of plain white paper beside it, Rick was not just using it for decoration either. "Are you...writing on it? What are you writing?"

He shrugged and gave an evasive answer of, "Just stuff."

Kate pressed her lips together and thought back to her tried-and-true assessment of New York baristas and bartenders. Actors, struggling musicians or playwrights. "Plays?"

"Um no. Novels."

Oh. Well. She hadn't been expecting that. "Really?"

He walked over to the table, picked up a typewriter cover from one of the mismatched chairs, and draped it over the machine. "Don't get too excited—they're not that good."

"Oh I'm sure that's not true," she said on instinct.

He turned around and eyed her skeptically. "Remember me? The kid that didn't have school past fifth grade?"

At the mention of his less-than-typical past, Kate thought back to the conversation she had with her mother many years earlier. As the missing boy had not been able to attend the majority of his schooling years, her mother had speculated that schooling would be near the top of his "To do" list upon returning. Judging by the way he spoke and acted, she could not imagine he had not completed high school in least some form. Plus, she very much doubted Starbucks would hire someone with only a fifth grade education. "You have your GED, don't you?"

"I do."

"Then you had school past fifth grade."

He quirked his head flippantly. "But not in the traditional way. Nothing about me was traditional, actually."

"Including how you write?" She offered, gesturing towards the covered typewriter. Then, before he could react, she thought better of her statement and apologized. "Sorry I don't mean to tease."

Rick appeared unfazed. "Oh no, tease away—my mother does. Bear in mind she's a borderline Luddite who calls smartphones 'newfangled things' but this she makes fun of."

Kate laughed and waited patiently as he retrieved a pair of sneakers from beside his bed and sat down to put them on. As she drifted towards him, she asked, "Do you have a super artsy reason for the typewriter?"

"Not at all; I have a super sad one. My laptop blew up and I haven't had the money for a new one yet. Always had the typewriter so I thought I'd give it a whirl. It's…fun actually. Makes me feel a bit old timey. It feels grittier."

"Do you write gritty things?" she asked in response without thinking.

He stood up and looked her directly in the eye. "I write dark things."

Kate felt the hairs at the back of her neck prickle and she silently hoped the fact that his writing favored the dark was not because he had not had any good things happen to him. Quietly, she said, "I would think you'd want to write happy things."

As though he'd heard her inner thoughts he responded with, "I don't know happy; I know dark."

After exiting Rick's apartment, they walked down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk in silence. They'd gone only half a block towards the theater when he said suddenly, "Sorry…did I make things weird?"

"No. I just…I'm not always sure what to say when you bring up your past." She told him honestly. "I want to ask a hundred questions—the investigator in me wants to ask a thousand—but I don't want to upset you or dredge up old memories. But…right now I'm just trying to wrap my head around the concept of only knowing about dark things, not happy ones, and I don't think I can."

Yes, her mother's death had spurred a very dark turn in her life. In the immediate aftermath, she had spiraled into a deep rabbit hole, parts of which still affected her to that day, but in the nineteen years before that? Her memories were overwhelmingly happy. The more she distanced herself from the death of her mother, the easier it was for her to recall those joyous times with a smile and not heartache. To not have those moments—to never be able to come across a photograph or something else that triggered a memory that resulted in a laugh—was unfathomable.

"You shouldn't—no one should. When I got back, it was….well, difficult would be putting it mildly, as I'm sure you could imagine."

He glanced over to her and Kate nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue.

"I didn't speak much. The therapist said that was completely normal. I just…wasn't used to talking to anyone since I spent most of my days alone. The therapist encouraged me to write if I wasn't going to speak—to keep a daily journal, so I did. I wrote and wrote and it felt good; comforting. I wrote about what happened, how I felt about it, and how I was adjusting, the things I did day to day."

He stopped speaking when they had to hurry across a busy street. When they were walking side-by-side again, he slipped his hands down into his jean pockets with a sigh. "I was always a curious kid—curious and mischievous. I asked a lot of questions. One of the questions I persistently asked my mother, my therapist, and the social workers who came to see me was: who were the women? Did they have families like me? Were people missing them too? But they wouldn't tell me because of privacy and the ongoing investigation or maybe just because they thought I'd already seen too much. That's when I started writing fiction; I wrote their stories. Didn't matter if they were true or not, but it…helped me process."

When he finished his explanation, Kate took several moments to process all that she had heard. It certainly was not the direction she had expected their conversation to go, but she was extremely glad that he had shared it with her; it made so much sense. Despite the horrors he had witnessed, through his trauma Rick had discovered a passion for something he might not have found otherwise. Of course, ideally he would not have been traumatized at all, but at least there was a small silver lining.

"I'm happy that writing has helped you, Rick; that's excellent. Would I be correct in assuming you've moved on to writing about stories other than the histories of those women?" When he nodded, she asked, "Have you ever published anything?"

"Oh god no!"

From his tone, one would have thought she suggested that he jump off the Brooklyn Bridge. "Did you ever try?"

He shook his head. "I don't really show them to many people."

Kate considered this. Given what she knew about him, she thought that perhaps the reason he had not shown his works to many friends or tried to get them published was a lack of confidence. Perhaps all he needed was some positive reinforcement, which she would be all too happy to give. "May I read something? I like a good dark story now and then."

He glanced over to her, parroting back her earlier statement to him. "And here I'd think you would want a happy story."

She folded her arms over her chest and gazed out across the sidewalk before them. "Happy stories aren't reality." Reality involved gruesome murders committed for reasons unknown. Reality was cruelty to others that made little sense. Reality wasn't fluff or Disney endings; it was gritty and dark, but in literature that often came with reason, and she liked that.

He was silent for a moment before saying, "I'll, um…maybe."

Her tone returning to a lighter one, she nodded to him. "Sure. No pressure. Just think about it."


	6. Chapter 6

**SIX**

"Did you give any more thought to what I said?"

Kate glanced over her shoulder as Rick carried their two now-empty dinner plates into her kitchen. After placing them into the sink where she was washing up he asked, "About what?"

"Sending your book to a publisher."

"Oh." He turned away from her and walked back to the table where only their wine goblets remained. "No."

With a sigh, Kate pushed the faucet handle to the off position with her wrist and turned around as she dried her hands on a towel. "Rick. It's one of the best books I've ever read. And I'm not just saying that!"

She truly wasn't. The book was, in a word, riveting. From the moment she picked it up, she never wanted to put it down; were it not for her early shift, she would have finished it in one night. As it was, she could hardly wait to get home and discover how it ended. Truly, the story was excellent.

After their initial discussion of his works, Kate had not pressed the issue. She'd casually asked once a few days later if he had been writing, but she never asked to read one of his works again, not wanting to make him feel uncomfortable. Then, three weeks after the subject was broached, he surprised her by handing her a navy blue three-ring binder with several hundred printed pages inside. With pink ears and downcast eyes he had said, "Here, if you still want to read something; don't feel bad if you don't like it." Kate had instantly fought the urge to hug him.

She was impressed—really and truly—at the strength and confidence it took for him to share one of his works with her; it spoke volumes about their blossoming friendship. True, the way he presented it showed a lack of full confidence, but he was still handing her the book and that was a very important first step.

When she read the title page, _Flowers for Your Grave_ , and started the first paragraph, Kate had to admit to being slightly disappointed. She had wanted the book to be amazing and incredible but the writing started out shaky at best. It was hard to delve into the story with the writing being a bit…well, simple and juvenile; lacking description. She understood the reason why, though, and pressed through to be pleasantly surprised. Within ten pages she forgot about the style of writing and became too enraptured in the story; from that point in she was hooked.

Despite her enthusiastic comment, Rick gave her a rather pitiful expression. "It's terrible."

She folded her arms over her chest as she leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Why would you say that?"

"Because it's true. The wording is so poor. It's one of the first things I wrote…I was only halfway through school…it's basic."

With an exhale, Kate pushed herself away from her counter and walked over to stand in front of him. "Okay, some of the wording could be spiced up a bit—I won't deny that—but the story, Rick. The twists—the ending! It's fantastic!"

He combed his fingers through his hair and walked over to her green suede couch and sat down. She followed, though hung back at the edge of the seating area to give him some distance. It was only the second time he'd been to her apartment, and the first was only to meet her before going out for drinks, but she liked that he seemed to feel at ease in her space. He'd taken off his shoes by the door, practically jumped at the chance to help her set their dinner table, and cleaned up immediately when he dripped some salad dressing on her table, even though she insisted he didn't have to. Gazing over at him, he seemed like any ordinary man having a trying day, but she knew he wasn't and watching him struggle made her sad.

"You have no idea how frustrating it is. Having ideas, a good story but when it comes to putting words on a page everything suck and there's some things I just…I don't know how to say better."

Seeing an opportunity, Kate walked over and sat on her coffee table so she could face him. "I think you do. You speak quite eloquently."

He gave her an appreciative look. "I read a lot. Wasn't much else to do in that barn."

The hairs on Kate's arm stood on end as a mental image of a young teen boy with blue eyes sitting in a dark, dingy barn with a book open in his lap flashed through her mind. She shook her head, willing the image away. A moment later, an idea replaced it. "What if I help you? Just maybe make a few suggestions, spark some ideas. It's your work; I don't want to step on your toes but-"

"No I…" His voice drifted off and he gazed at her as though she had just handed him a one hundred million dollar check from the New York State Lottery. "You…you'd do that for me?"

She smiled at him. "We're friends aren't we?" Then, she pushed her hands against her thighs and stood from the coffee table to return to the kitchen and the unwashed dishes in her sink. "Then, if you're comfortable, we can send it to some publishers. I can get my dad to help."

"Your dad?"

She hummed and glanced over her shoulder at him. "He's a law professor and he's published a few articles in academic journals. I know it's not the same as a novel, but he knows some people. It would be a place to start."

"You'd seriously help me with this?"

She nodded; there wasn't even a question in her mind. "It's something you want, right?"

"I…I honestly never thought about what I wanted, what I could be. I always kind of thought I was too messed up to be normal. I lived my life taking baby steps because I thought that's all I could handle, but I can handle more. I want to try, anyway, and…yeah, writing is the thing that brings me the most enjoyment."

She smiled. "Then of course I'll help you."

* * *

Half an hour later they sat side-by-side on Kate's couch while watching the Mets lose miserably. Well, Rick was watching the Mets lose; Kate was watching Rick.

As she finished up the dishes, they had agreed that she would take a copy of his novel home with her and mark up some places in the first few chapters where he could improve descriptions, scenery references, or anything else she thought needed revamped. He would then try to revise the sections by himself and they would review together.

As Kate detailed her thoughts on the plan, Rick immediately told her she could back out and he wouldn't hold it against her, but she held strong. Yes, the process could get long, but she didn't mind. She truly wanted to help him. He then grew very quiet and when she asked why, he confessed the process would be made much more difficult by the fact that his computer was broken and in his paycheck-to-paycheck state he could not afford the two hundred dollar repair. Kate didn't hesitate to reach for her checkbook. He refused, but she insisted saying, "It's a loan; pay me back with your first publishing advance."

As they settled on to the couch she could not help but think about something Rick had mentioned in passing, but sparked a memory of something she had read in his police file. _In the barn_. Rick had indeed been recovered from a dilapidated barn and, from his comment, she could not help but think he had spent the majority of his captivity there, which was yet another thing about his story that astounded her.

"What is it?"

"Hmm?" she replied, still lost in her thoughts.

"You're staring at me. What's wrong?"

A slight blush crept into her cheeks; she had been caught. "Oh, um, nothing. I just…you said the barn…Is that where he kept you all seven years?"

His eyes turned back to the television. "Yes."

Kate leaned towards him. "Should I not ask you about this?"

With an exhale, he said quickly. "There's not much to tell. It was a barn. Old. Drafty. I slept on a dirty mattress surrounded by his tools of torture and a rusty lawn mower."

Choosing to ignore the "tools of torture" comment, she asked, "Were you locked in?"

He shook his head briefly. "Chained to one of the support poles. Had about…seven or eight feet of movement area."

"I'm sorry."

He turned to her and with a tone that sounded just a hint lighter he said, "You're not the one that captured me, Kate; you don't need to be sorry."

She gave him a small smile, though it was brief. Scooting towards him she began, "May I ask something else? It's not exactly about your kidnapping." After he nodded her to continue, she said, "In the book—the scene where they find the second body in the woods. It was so…visceral. Was it real?" The story had her so enraptured she had no thought about it at the time, but days later, as she mentally reviewed some of the more descriptive sections in her mind, a sick feeling filled her gut and she wondered how much had been inspired by his own experience.

"Yes," he said, confirming her worst fears. "It's from when he took me."

Kate said nothing but simply waited for him to continue on his own. When he did it was with a gruff, emotion-filled tone. "I was wandering through the woods even though I'd been explicitly told not to. My mother always said my reckless abandon for authority was going to get me in serious trouble one day; I guess she was right." A mirthless laugh escaped his lips and he shook his head regretfully.

"I only intended to explore for a little while, but I got lost. I thought I was heading back towards the road, but I guess I was going deeper and deeper and that's when I saw him. Her—I saw her first." He corrected.

"I shouldn't have gotten close, I know that. I knew she was dead from the moment I saw her—the fixed stare, the still, blue lips—but I was…fascinated and horrified and I couldn't look away. I inched closer and closer, my heart was thundering—pounding against my ribs. It was terrifying but exhilarating. I got close enough to her that I could reach out and put my finger right…right against her cheek." He reached out his right hand and pressed that finger against the open air of her apartment. Then, he looked at Kate, his eyes wide.

"That's when he grabbed me, when I was distracted. I never even heard him coming; never saw a thing. Next thing I knew I woke up in the barn, shackled, and he was standing over me wearing this mask that I…I can still see it."

He ended on a whisper that drew one of the tears hovering at the edge of Kate's eyelid. His story terrified her and she had not even been there; she was not eleven years old. "Did you ever see his face?"

He nodded. "Oh yeah. Just a few days later. That's when I knew he was going to kill me."

Kate assumed that he was referring to the kidnapping or hostage stereotype that said that if a victim saw their kidnapper's face they were more likely to die, because if they let you go you could identify them to law enforcement. As a cop, Kate knew this was not entirely true. She imagined there was a grain of truth in there somewhere, but the odds for kidnapping victims were largely the same no matter the scenario in which they were taken and, unfortunately, those odds were never good.

"But he didn't kill you."

"Didn't he?" Rick returned in a voice that made it sound as though he truly wasn't sure.

Her skin prickling again, Kate shook her head and spoke in a firm tone. "No, he didn't. You're here. You have a job. A life. Friends. You beat him; you survived."

He turned away and muttered, "Doesn't always feel that way."

Kate knew had she been in Rick's shoes she might have felt the same. If she had come face to face with her captor after being released she knew she would have screamed and cried and threw vitriol at him from every angle. The phrase, "you ruined my life," would have come up many times; she was sure of it. She could imagine Rick feeling as though his life had been stolen from him, but that wasn't the case. It had been forever changed, but not stolen; he could still make the most of it and keep the past in the past. Still, she imagined that was easier said than done.

"I…I don't know how you feel about being touched, but could I hug you?" she asked tentatively. Thus far, even as friendly as they had become, their physical contact had been minimal. She was not privy to the details of his time in the barn, but she knew in many cases victims shied away from physical contact and the last thing she wanted to do was trigger him.

He turned to her and the corner of his lips quirked upwards. "I don't mind being touched, Kate. A hug would be nice."

With a relived smile, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in tight. She felt his arm loop around her waist and she shut her eyes, relaxing into his arms and…

Oh. Well. Being close to him did feel better than she expected, but she brushed it off as being a result of their emotional discussion. She didn't want to have feelings for Rick—not then. He needed her more as a friend than anything else, and that's what she wanted to be; a friend, nothing more.


	7. Chapter 7

**SEVEN**

Without question, Kate categorized the next few weeks as some of her most fun in the prior year. Every opportunity she had to meet with Rick on a day they weren't working they met to discuss his book, _Flowers for Your Grave,_ and the improvements he could make on it. Though Rick continually insisted she could stop helping any time if she was no longer having fun or their schedule felt too grueling, Kate never thought once about quitting.

For Kate, the process of working on a book was completely different than anything she had ever done before. Sure, it was frustrating at times, but it was also exciting and highly entertaining. Even if it had been grueling, she could not have stopped, for seeing the difference it made in her friend made it all worthwhile.

In just a few days, Rick's attitude had changed exponentially. She could see he was excited about the prospect of bettering his book—and himself in the process as well. Though he still had moments of self-doubt, she could see his confidence blossoming before her eyes—it showed in every inch of him from his expression to his posture. She truly felt that he was becoming the man he was meant to be and not the one he'd hid behind due to his childhood trauma.

They started slow, going a chapter at a time, with her selecting sections of the book and highlighting them for his reexamination. Sometimes, the reworking came easily to him; others it did not. During those times when he got frustrated, she had him talk out what he was trying to say. She quickly discovered that his obstruction came often times when he tried to type out the issue, but if he spoke he could do so eloquently, so he would say what he meant and Kate would jot down notes for him to use later when he was writing.

The process was by no means speedy, but the further in they got, the quicker it went. In three weeks they were a third of the way through the book. Kate told him she figured that they would be done by the end of summer; Rick seemed skeptical, but agreed they'd take it a chapter at a time nonetheless.

Once they reached the one-third milestone, Rick insisted that he and Kate celebrate their accomplishment by having her over for dinner to meet his mother, Martha. Evidently, she was quite insistent that she meet the woman helping her son. Though her tour with Pippen had been done for a few weeks, she had immediately set to work on another show, so their schedules just had not worked out until late June when they were able to plan a Sunday evening meal together.

Arriving at the apartment Rick shared with his mother, Kate had to admit to the slightest feeling of butterflies in her stomach. As much as Martha was looking forward to meeting her, Kate both looked forward to and dreaded meeting the woman. She could not even begin to fathom how the elder woman was able to handle her son's kidnapping, presumed death, and reentry into the world and come out the other side as a sane individual. Had she been in Martha's shoes, she was not sure she would be able to recover, though perhaps it was as Rick had once said: you survive because you have to.

"Kate. Good evening. And I'm sorry."

She blinked at her host as she stepped into his apartment. "Sorry?"

He bobbed his head. "My mother started drinking while we were cooking and she's already two glasses of wine in. So, I'm sorry; I have no idea what all she'll say to you."

Kate chuckled. "Oh."

"Oh look at you gorgeous thing!"

Kate turned towards the direction of the new voice and spotted Rick's mother in the kitchen, glass of white wine in her hand. She had fiery orange hair and wore a loud, multi colored tunic over eggplant colored leggings. It appeared Rick's description of her being "quite theatrical" was right on the money.

"Come here, darling, come here. Don't be shy!"

"It's very nice to meet you Ms. Castle."

Kate extended her hand to the woman, but Martha bypassed it and pulled her immediately into a hug. "Please, darling, call me Martha. I feel like I already know you with everything Richard has told me about you. I half expected you to show up with wings and a halo."

"Mother." Rick said in a tone edged with embarrassment.

She shrugged. "It's true."

"Why don't we just eat?" he suggested, presumably to prevent his mother from embarrassing him further.

The trio sat around the wooden table and Kate was positively stunned to be presented what looked like a high end restaurant quality meal of pork chops and assorted sides. When she commented on how impressive it looked, Rick thanked her; evidently he was solely responsible for the cooking. He had made them meals before, but all had been relatively simple casseroles; nothing nearly as complex. Apparently he decided to go a bit fancier for their celebratory meal.

"My son, the chef." Martha commented. "Course if it was up to me we'd be having takeout."

"It's summer; we're eating fresh vegetables," Rick said in a rather exhausted tone, as though he and his mother had a similar discussion many times in the past. "Yes, it's tight on the budget, but if you lived on canned ravioli and fruit cocktail for seven years you might feel differently."

While Martha did not seem to bat an eyelash at his comment, Kate remained rather frozen with her knife and fork stuck into her pork chop. She almost held her breath, waiting for something unhappy to occur, but nothing did. Rick evidently noticed her expression and asked her what was wrong. "Nothing; nothing. I just…I wasn't sure how comfortable you were with talking about it."

"If we didn't talk about it, we probably would have gone insane long ago." Martha informed her before taking a long drink from her wine glass.

"It's okay, Kate." Rick assured her. She looked over at him for confirmation. "We generally don't talk about it unless we're by ourselves, but that's only because no one knows, but you do. It's actually…nice; a relief."

A smile that mirrored his crossed her face and she nodded before turning back to her meal. Though Rick and his mother seemed okay with it, Kate still did not want to want to encourage such unsettling topics of conversation, so she asked Martha about her play and acting career, which had Rick preemptively groaning, "Oh here we go." Martha then spent the remainder of their meal detailing every role she ever had, or so it seemed, but Kate didn't mind; it appeared she was equally as entertaining a storyteller as her son.

Later, as Rick was putting away the leftovers, Martha pulled Kate aside and gave her another hug saying, "I don't know how I can ever thank you enough for what you've done for my son; I came home to a different man."

"Oh," she said, a slight blush creeping into her cheeks. "I'm not sure I can take all the credit for that."

Looking her squarely in the eye, Martha said, "You can and you should."

Though she did not completely agree, Kate nodded and thanked the elder woman. Though she knew some of Rick's development over the prior months had been entirely his own, she was glad to see that the person who knew him best in the world had seen positive change in him as well. Hopefully, with all the progress he had made, he would not backslide into the uncertain man she had met as he handed her a cup of coffee nearly a year earlier.

"So, Kate, can I get you more wine?"

"Oh." She glanced tentatively towards her mostly empty second glass of the beverage. "I probably shouldn't; I have the early shift tomorrow."

"You can go ahead and fill me up, kiddo." Martha chimed in.

"I assumed." He chuckled, dutifully handing over the bottle.

Kate walked over to Rick and gave him a quick hug. "Thanks for dinner and I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

He winked at her. "Bright and early; I'll have your drink waiting."

* * *

Two weeks later, Kate and Rick sat side by side on a boardwalk bench at Coney Island. The day was sweltering and each held ice cream cones that were steadily dripping the milky substance all over their hands and wrists, though neither seemed to mind. Kate was simply pleased to see Rick smiling and laughing.

The prior week had been difficult with him hitting a major roadblock in the reworking of his book. He had wanted to throw in the towel completely and give up, but she had simply suggested that they take a break. In discussing what they could do instead, Kate discovered that in the prior few years Rick had not had anything that resembled a vacation, which naturally led her to suggest he take one. Unfortunately, his finances did not allow such luxuries so Kate suggested Coney Island, which while not quite a vacation, still involved a break and some much needed fun.

Though Rick remained hesitant, as soon as she got him onto the boardwalk she noticed the tightness in his shoulders relenting and he began to smile and point out all the laughing children and dogs that he saw. Kate was glad to see him having fun, but in a way it made her the smallest bit sad. Going to Coney Island with friends and eating hot dogs, fries, and cotton candy until you were sick was almost a rite of passage as a teenager—one that he missed entirely.

From that moment on she decided to give him the best Coney Island day possible—suggesting that they ride rides and play games and eat nothing healthy the entire day. Rick had agreed and as the day went on, Kate found out that Rick had actually been on a vacation since returning to the real world after confessing she feared he had not.

Apparently, when he turned twenty-eight and realized he'd been back experiencing life again for a decade only to realize he had not experienced all that much he decided to go on a cross country trip. He took a large portion of the money he'd saved up from working various jobs—money that he had originally earmarked towards community college—and toured across the United States, traveling as cheaply as he could and picking up odd jobs here and there for over six months. Kate admitted to being both stunned and impressed that he would embark on such a journey, but her brushed it off saying it was something he felt he had to do. Though he traveled mostly on his own, he had seen more than he fathomed possible as he sat in the same dilapidated space for the better part of seven years.

When Rick finished his cone, he relaxed back against the bench, draping his right arm across the back of it, and crossing legs so that his right ankle rested just above his left knee. Kate glanced down as he did this and noticed there was something amiss with his leg. She stared at it for several seconds before she was able to place what she was seeing. His right ankle was oddly shaped—almost too straight or too small when compared to the rest of his body. Without even thinking, she said, "Is there something wrong with your ankle? It looks weird."

"Uh, thanks."

As his tone was clearly sarcastic, she apologized quickly, but he shook her off, rubbing his left hand over the body part in question.

"The doctor said the shackles probably hindered their growth a bit so they're both a little misshapen—the right worse than the left. Not a big medical problem, except I probably won't be a pro basketball player."

Kate immediately felt her face flush—and not from the heat. She hadn't even thought about the strangeness of his ankles relating to his kidnapped time. What an idiot she was! Again, she apologized. "I'm so sorry; I never even…" She shook her head as she thought back to their original conversation when he talked about being chained up in the barn. "When you said you were chained up I assumed it was by your wrists."

"No it was my feet—alternating feet; only one was ever chained at a time."

She nodded and then asked, "Do…do you have any other scars?" but quickly backtracked with, "Sorry you don't have to answer that."

He leaned forward and rested both his forearms against his crossed-over lower leg. "I'm not sure that's a story for Coney Island."

Of course it wasn't! That day was meant to be happy—distracting. Then she had to go and ruin it with her ridiculous investigator's curiosity. "Sorry."

He looked over at her. "You don't need to apologize, Kate. I don't mind you asking. My therapist always says it's good to talk about it in a safe environment and I know that means you. I'll tell you about it someday, I promise."

She nodded and then reached over to place her hand on his forearm. Brushing her thumb against the soft hair there she said, "Thanks for saying you trust me with your story."

His eyes remained steadily locked with hers as he said, "I trust you with anything."


	8. Chapter 8

**Trigger warnings: This chapter mentions violence, abuse, and sexual assault, but neither take place in the chapter**

* * *

 **EIGHT**

"Kate…what are you doing here?"

Rick's tone was one of mixed surprise and disappointment when he opened up his apartment door after her knock. Confused and slightly disappointed herself, Kate's expression fell. "I…thought we were going to that end of summer concert tonight?"

Embarrassment flashed across his face. "Oh—shit. I totally forgot about that; I'm sorry."

She shrugged and shook off his apology. They had made the plans over a week earlier and when she tried to confirm them with him a few days prior he had not responded to her text. "No biggie. Do you still want to go or…?"

"Sure, um, just give me a few minutes?" He requested before waving her inside.

While Rick disappeared into the bathroom, Kate wandered into the apartment and over to the wooden table, where she intended to sit and wait for him, but a letter poking out from a stack of mail caught her eye. She should not have been snooping—she knew that. It was rude and completely inappropriate, but the fact that the page had letterhead from Black Pawn Publishing was just too enticing.

As Kate had predicted, she and Rick were able to complete the revamping of _Flowers for Your Grave_ by mid-August. With their diligent work the book had taken a complete one-eighty. The story had not changed, but with more developed descriptions and scenery additions, it was now an edge-of-your-seat thriller. Kate immediately began suggesting sending the book out to prospective publishers, but Rick backpedaled, not even sure what that would mean. It was then Kate brought in her source for such things: her father.

Before scheduling the meeting, Kate asked Rick's permission to reveal Rick's true identity to her father so as to explain just why he felt so hesitant and borderline uncomfortable with sharing his works with the world. Rick agreed, and her father was shocked to say the least. He had been told about her friend Rick who had a "difficult past," but he never would have anticipated the real story and Kate couldn't say she blamed him as some days she didn't even believe it herself.

After the elder Beckett gave his input, he directed them to a friend of his in the publishing world, who gave Rick all the details he needed to begin his journey to becoming a published author. Rick drafted a prospect letter, which Kate's father reviewed and edited, before the letter along with a book excerpt was sent out to a dozen publishers and the waiting game began.

Over a month had passed since the letters went out and Kate wondered every single day whether or not that day would be the day Rick received a response. He was going to receive a response, she just knew it! Unfortunately, the first response he received was a rejection notice; that had been at the twenty-one day mark. The next day, he received two more and as she stood in his apartment he'd thrown them in the trash and said, "Well, at least I tried," but Kate discouraged him from giving up. Nine more publishers had yet to respond, and there were others they could send letters to as well.

If Rick was devastated, he hid it well. He always thanked her for her kindness and support and told her that no matter what happened it would be fine, but she wasn't sure that she believed him; however, until they received that twelfth rejection letter, she would be positive.

Without second though, Kate plucked the Black Pawn letter out of the mail pile and skimmed her eyes down towards the body of the letter. The first sentence had her squealing with joy. They were interested! They were interested in his book! They wanted to schedule a meeting with him to discuss it further!

It was happening! It was really happening!

When Kate heard the bathroom door open again she whipped around and rushed towards him, the letter still grasped in her right hand. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight. "Oh Rick! This is fantastic! I'm so happy for you."

"What are you doing?" he asked, resting his hands at her sides but not hugging her back; Kate was too overjoyed to notice.

"Black Pawn Publishing—they want to schedule a meeting with you! That's incredible!" She pulled out of their embrace and held the letter up as though it were a gold medal.

Immediately, Rick's eyes clouded over and he snatched the letter from her. "Where did you get this?" he asked, accusatorily.

"I'm sorry, I found it on the table, and I was just—why aren't you excited about this?" She changed course mid-sentence when she finally noticed how dark and unsettling his expression had become.

"You shouldn't have gone through my things," he said before walking back to the table and putting the letter beneath the pile of mail again.

Kate's brow knitted together. "What's wrong? Why aren't you excited about this?"

"It doesn't matter."

He made his way towards the door, but she stopped him, standing in front of him with her hand lightly pressed to his chest. "It does matter. What's going on, Rick?"

"Nothing. Let's just go."

He moved to walk around her, but she moved quicker blocking him again. "No. Not until you tell me what's going on. I don't understand. You wanted-"

"No _you_ wanted." He snipped, raising his voice to her for the first time ever. "You wanted, Kate, and now…I'm not sure I'm going to pursue it."

Her arms dropped to her sides and she shook her head. "I don't understand. Why…why would you… You love writing and your story is so good, why wouldn't you want to share it with the world?"

He said nothing; he merely stood still with his fists clenched and his eyes turned down. She gave him a moment to respond, but when he didn't, she stepped up to him again and pressed her hand gently against his cheek. "Rick. Talk to me, please."

"I don't know if I can, okay? I don't know if I'm ready."

She nodded. "Okay. I can understand that, but even if you're not, where's the harm in calling Black Pawn, setting up a meeting, and hearing what they have to say?"

He shook his head and pushed himself away from her, walking back towards the kitchen. "It's not that simple. I just…The rejection letters didn't bother me, because they confirmed what I thought—that my story wasn't good enough. But if…okay, let's say Black Pawn does want to publish. Then my name is out there again and…and people might…"

Kate caught his implication and her expression fell. He was afraid of being recognized; of regaining notoriety for the wrong reasons. Finally, his hesitation was beginning to make sense—at least, in part. "But Rick, you changed your name. You were found over fifteen years ago. People won't know."

He let out a mirthless laugh. "People always know; that's why there's the internet."

She nodded, conceding to this. If he remained relatively under the radar, it probably would not happen, but if his works became popular, the likelihood of someone making the connection was strong. After all, she had. "So what if they know?"

He shook his head, folding his arms across his chest. "If they know, they could dig into it and…and things could come out—things that…that I…"

"Things that you didn't tell the police." She concluded for him.

He looked up at her, eyes darker than she'd ever seen them, and he whispered, "Things that I couldn't."

Kate's skin prickled and her stomach flipped in her gut. God, oh god—this poor man before her. Wasn't being kidnapped by a psychopath enough? Being chained up in a barn and given limited food not to mention having no human contact aside from with said psychopath? What other horrors did he face? What was so terrible that he could not tell the police? Given what she knew about his captor's crimes against women, only one possibility came to her mind. Stepping closer to him, she asked softly, "Did he hurt you Rick?"

His head popped up and his eyes flashed with recognition before he quickly shook his head. "Not like that; he wasn't interested in me—not that way."

She breathed a sigh of relief; at least sexual assault was not added to Rick's list of terrors. Nodding, she asked, "Okay, so what happened?"

As though he'd been suddenly electrocuted, Rick scurried out of the kitchen and moved instead to the area in front of the couch, though he did not sit down. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't…I shouldn't tell you this."

She followed without hesitation. "Why not?"

"Because then you'll never speak to me again."

Kate almost laughed at his absurd assumption, but she managed to keep her tone gentle as she approached him as though one would a ticking bomb. "Rick. If you don't want to tell me what happened, you don't have to—ever—but I promise there's nothing you can say that will make me not speak to you again."

He turned away from her, shaking his head. He brought a hand up to cover his mouth and she could see his fingertips quivering. Stepping up behind him, she placed her hand tentatively on his bicep. He shook his head back and forth for almost a full minute before rasping out, "You can't say that, you don't know."

Hearing the emotion in his voice, Kate felt tears prick at her own eyes. God, what had this man seen? What had happened to him that he feared confession would end their friendship permanently? She wanted to help him, she wanted to listen and, though she hated that part of herself, the detective in her wanted to know. More so, she felt the confession might help him—might lessen his burden; that was a feeling she knew all too well.

"I know what it's like to keep things inside." She began just above a whisper. "My mother was murdered when I was nineteen. I'm not saying that in any way compares to what happened to you, but I do understand. I don't talk to anyone about it, ever."

With this confession, Rick turned to her, his expression one of mixed confusion and horror. "She was murdered?"

Kate nodded. "And her killer was never found which makes it even more difficult for me as a detective. I've struggled with it a lot these past seven years and it's led to some problems in my life, problems that might not have happened, or might not have been as bad if I had talked to someone about it. My point being: no matter how bad it is, talking about it could help and I'm here to listen."

He swallowed hard and nodded, letting her recommendation hover in the air for a moment before asking, "And if you never want to see me again?"

She smiled and shook her head. "Never gonna happen," she said, keeping her tone as light as possible. It was one hundred percent true. Short of him being the man that took her mother's life, there was absolutely nothing he could say that would end their friendship so dramatically.

Rick sunk down onto the couch and she dropped down just beside him. Tucking her leg under her body she sat sideways so she could face him directly as he spoke.

"About a year, year and a half after he had me I tried to escape. He was really good at keeping me locked up—fanatical about it, actually. He only let me out to use a garden hose to shower every few days and everything else was brought to me. The only other time he unlocked my shackles was when he needed me for something—usually to help carry a body or dig a grave."

Kate swallowed hard; immediately she did not like where this story was headed.

"This one time he made me help him carry a body to his truck and he pinched his hand when he tried to load her in. I saw an opportunity in those five seconds he wasn't watching me and I took off running. I ran and I ran–I don't know where I was running to, but I just kept running. I thought I could hear cars and I thought I was going to make it to the street—to safety but I wasn't even close.

"He tackled me and dragged me back to the barn. I thought he was going to kill me then; he didn't. I almost wish he had, because what he did was far worse. He said he'd make me pay and he did in many ways. Didn't feed me for days. He punched me in the face and kicked me. And then, a few weeks later, he had another woman there. A blonde—they were always blonde. I remember she stayed awake the whole time…most of them passed out but she was awake and looking at me the whole time—the whole time he was…he…"

His voice broke off and Kate reached over and placed her hand on his arm. He didn't need to finish that sentence; she had read enough about the case to know what his captor was doing to those women—what he had been forced to witness.

"At least, I think she was awake for most of it—I tried to keep my eyes closed as much as I could. He, um, he…" Rick paused to clear his throat. "There was this bench where he put all of them—an old work bench with worn, split boards, but it was heavy; sturdy. He had shackles on it to hold them down and it was right by my mattress so I was always right there. Usually, he ignored me, too engrossed with what he was doing, but that day, when he was through with her, he grabbed me by the shoulder and hauled me to my feet. Then, he handed me the knife."

Kate shut her eyes and fought the urge to cover her face as she let out a slow breath through her nose. Yeah, she definitely didn't like where this story was going.

More emotion showing in his voice, the broken man continued. "He said I had to do it; I had to kill her. He was screaming at me, shoving me forward saying that I had to kill her then—right then. The woman crying and whimpering and her breathing—I could hear her breathing so quick and hard. I just started crying telling him I couldn't; I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill anyone. I was shaking and the knife in my hands was so…so…I just couldn't shop shaking."

Rick took in a rattled breath as tears spilled down his cheeks. Shedding a few of her own, Kate moved her arm so that it looped around his bicep and she held him tightly.

He shook his head as he continued. "I never—I never even thought to turn the knife against him I just wanted it to stop, I wanted everything to stop. I wanted it to be over even if that meant he killed me instead, but he just kept insisting that I had to do it and I couldn't; I was frozen. He yelled at me for what seemed like minutes—forever—but was probably only a minute? A little more, maybe, until he got angry and he took his hands and put them over mine, trapping the knife there and dragging me forward along with it. His hands were tight—so tight. They were so tight." He sobbed, his whole body shaking from the viciousness of the memory.

Rick sniffed back tears and shook his head. "And the knife…the knife went into her neck, just below her jaw and the sound, oh god the sound—I'll never forget the gurgling and her wet gasps for breath…the way the blood soaked my hands and how her body shuddered until she just…she just stopped."

A hiccupped sob escaped his lips and Kate pulled her body closer to his, resting her forehead against his shoulder as the tears poured down each of her cheeks.

"And…and then he looked at me, pulled the knife away and said, 'You did it; you killed her.' And he went on to say I could never escape because then they'd arrest me and put me in prison, too."

Kate shut her eyes as a shiver traveled down her spine. Oh god, she could hardly fathom it. The horrors he had seen would have been indescribably cruel to a child as young as he, but then being forced to be directly involved in a murder at what? Twelve? Thirteen years old? She had no idea how he was able to live through it, and didn't being to question why he hesitated to tell her.

Her gut response was almost to start saying how sorry she was, but sorry didn't seem appropriate; nothing did. How could anything she would ever say or do take away the unspeakable things that had been done to him? Instead, she just hugged his arm even tighter and waited for his sobs to cease.

Several minutes later, Rick reached for a box of tissues to mop up his cheeks and beneath his nose. He then passed it to Kate so she could do the same. When he settled back on the couch he did so a full cushion away from her. Tucking his hands between his knees he said softly, "So, um, I guess you have to arrest me now."

"Wha-god, Rick, no. no. Never." How could he even think such a thing?

He glanced over to her, disbelieve evident in his red-rimmed eyes. "But…I just confessed to a murder."

She shook her head and moved towards him on the couch. She knelt on the cushion beside him, reached out for his hands and placed hers over them. "No; no, you didn't. You were twelve years old, under duress, being mistreated and held as a hostage. There's not a DA in this city that would charge you." They wouldn't have then and they wouldn't now; it wasn't possible.

Looking away from her, he whispered, "I still did it."

She reached out to cup his chin so he'd look back to her. When their eyes met, she shook her head. "He did it; he forced your hands. This isn't your fault." With that, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him in close. He did lean his body slightly towards hers, but did not otherwise move.

After a moment he said, "Even if that's true; it still happened. It can't be taken back."

"No, it can't, but look at everything else you did. When they found you, you showed them were all those women were buried. You gave closure to all those families. Weren't there twenty or more?"

"Twenty six." He responded as though the number was tattooed on his soul.

She nodded. "Yes, twenty-six. Twenty-six families that would never have been able to have a funeral, get closure. Believe me: I know how important that is."

They continued to sit side by side in silent for the better part of two minutes before Rick excused himself to get a glass of water. When he returned with one for Kate as well, they sat in silence again before she said, "I'm going to assume you never told your therapist any of this."

Rick confirmed by shaking his head. "I was afraid he'd have to tell the police."

"No, you can talk to him about it and I think you should, but you don't have to. You told me, and I'm glad you did."

He glanced over to her, almost fearful. "Did you change your mind about never speaking to me again – I wouldn't blame you."

She placed her hand on his back and offered him a sweet smile. "No, I didn't change my mind. In fact—why don't I stay here with you tonight? That way you don't have to be alone." She knew his mother was out of town on an acting retreat so it only made sense.

Rick looked surprised, as though her act of kindness was akin to flying to the moon and back. "I…you'd do that?"

"I'll do whatever you want," she assured him.

* * *

Hours later, after a low-key evening with ordered in pizza and a two-star rented movie that had them rolling their eyes more than laughing, Kate slipped into bed wearing an old t-shirt of Rick's. She slid close to the man and looped his arms around his larger frame, encouraging him to cuddle against her. He did so, resting is head against her upper chest as she carded her fingers through his hair. Had she given it much thought, she might have considered the move too intimate for their "just friends" status, but such thoughts didn't enter her mind that night; she only wanted to comfort him.

"Kate?"

"Hmm?" She grunted, as she had already been drifting off to sleep.

The man moved his head from her chest to the pillow beside hers and said, "You know if you ever want to talk about your mom's murder, we can. And, I'm sorry that happened to you."

Kate opened her eyes and gazed over at him in the dim light of the room. "Thank you. I might take you up on that someday."

A moment of silence passed between him before he added, "And thank you for being my friend."

She found his arm beneath the covers and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Always."

* * *

 **A/N** : sorry this chapter was so sad :(


	9. Chapter 9

**NINE**

Kate hoped that Rick's confession about the darkest day of his life would allow him to relax and turn to the happier, more confident Rick she had seen in more recent times. She had no idea, though, just how much of a different it would make; the transformation was impressive. By Monday morning he had called Black Pawn, Wednesday he had a meeting with them, and by Friday the full novel had been turned in for review.

As her father had warned them both about the possibility, Kate expected the publishing company to take their time reviewing the book and not get back to Rick for a significant period of time, but that was not the case. Two weeks later Rick was signing his very contract as a published author; she had never seen him so happy.

From that point forward, it felt like the next month moved at lightning speed. Rick was given a ten thousand dollar advance check along with the signing of his contract. While this was not the most astronomical sum of money it was more than he'd ever had in his life. Kate half-teasingly, half-seriously warned him not to spend it all in one place, but he said he knew exactly what he was going to do with it: rent his own apartment.

Kate's original assumption about Rick and his mother had been correct. Save the time he spent as a hostage, they had never lived apart. Mainly, this was because neither had enough money to live on their own. Martha had understandably spent her life savings trying to find her son. It took her several years after his return to find her footing in the acting world again and by that point she was in debt. Rick had worked as much as he could during his recovery time, but the expensive city lifestyle was not encouraging to quick financial recovery. Now that Martha had been steadily employed in several back-to-back productions, she was fine to live on her own and with Black Pawn's check, so was Rick. The apartment he found was just outside Harlem; it was a studio barely big enough to turn around in, but it was his and he was thrilled with it, so of course Kate was happy for him.

Though his book had been accepted, there was still editing that needed done and in a short period of time, so for several weeks after he moved Rick and Kate did not see much of one another. They kept in daily contact through phone calls and text messages, but sometimes those were few and far between. Perhaps most disappointingly, Rick had quit his job at Starbucks and thus was no longer providing her morning caffeine fix.

When Rick had finally turned in the edits to Black Pawn, Kate insisted that they go out and celebrate, but their evening took a turn when she caught a case. After postponing their plans several times, they were finally able to meet up on a Saturday afternoon for a cheap matinee playing at a theater by Kate's place that always used extra butter on their popcorn.

On the walk back to her place, Kate noticed the rather glum expression on her friend's face and nudged him with her elbow as she slipped her hands into her coat pockets to shield them from the chilly November air. "What's the deal with you today? That was a funny movie and you didn't laugh once." Though he had given her a smile and a hug when they met up, Kate hadn't noticed how downtrodden he seemed until midway through the movie when his expression made it seem as though they were watching a World War II biopic and not a slapstick comedy.

"Sorry I'm…distracted."

"About what?" He had been unusually forthcoming in recent weeks, telling her more bits and pieces about his kidnapping time. None of them were particularly dark—they were more practical answers to her questions like how often he ate (once or twice a day) and how he used the bathroom (his kidnapper provided a bucket with a lid). Given how much he'd been sharing, she was surprised he had not come out and told her what was bothering him.

They walked another half block before he stopped walking and turned to her. "Did you…have you ever had anyone tell you you're a bad kisser?"

Kate's cheeks flushed. Well, that's not what she expected him to say. "Oh, um, no. but I'm guessing you have."

He grunted. "Last night during my shift this girl was flirting with me. Really flirting. At first I just thought she wanted free drinks, but she seemed nice. We chatted. And she stuck around so I said I'd walk her home."

"And you kissed her?" She guessed. Though he had quit his Starbucks job, Rick continued to bartend three nights a week, saying it was a quick way to earn a few hundred dollars to go towards his new rent payments. Plus, it generally came with a few entertaining stories; this did not feel like it would be one of them.

"She kissed me—we kissed and she told me it was terrible."

As the wind was biting into her nose, Kate continued walking as she shrugged off the incident. "She was probably just drunk or something."

"She's not the first person that ever said that."

Kate cringed inwardly at his confession. Well, that was a bit harder to brush off than a one-time incident. When they crossed the street so they could go into her building, Kate mentally reviewed Rick's history. Kidnapped at eleven, which meant high odds he was not kissed before the incident. That meant his first kiss came at eighteen or after. That age would have made it unusually late, though not entirely unheard of, but maybe it had been even later.

"Can I ask when your first kiss was?"

He answered without hesitation as they entered her building. "Nineteen…about nine months after I came back. I was starting to feel normal again. I was taking the subway back and forth to the classes helping me get my GED. A woman started talking to me one time. I didn't realize or know it at the time, but she recognized me and she, um, had a fetish shall we say."

Kate's head whipped towards his when they stepped into the elevator. "Fetish? For what? Kidnapped children?"

"No. People with traumatic pasts. Dark things—I don't know. I just thought she was friendly and nice and I was thrilled someone liked me. I'd also just spent the prior seven years as a hostage so I was a bit naïve."

She bobbed her head. "Sure." Given his absence from the real world during such formative years, she guessed that wasn't the only thing he was naïve about—not that any of it was his fault.

"She was the first person I kissed…and who I lost my virginity to – those two incidents happened at the same time, by the way–and they were both terrible."

Kate sucked in a breath through her teeth and cringed without thinking. "Ouch," she said, though she wasn't surprised. If anyone—no matter their history—had said that they had their first kiss and first time having sex back to back she would have assumed that at least one if not both was not a pleasurable experience.

"Well, as I said, I was an idiot."

She gave him a pointed look as she unlocked the door to her apartment. "I think given what happened to you idiot is a bit strong of a word." He shrugged as they stepped inside and shed their coats. When she hung them on her coatrack she asked, "So…wait, when did you find out about her fetish?"

His mouth curled in to a grimace. "How graphic do you want me to be?"

She laughed. "Oh well now you have to tell me everything." Normally, she was not too much of a kiss-and-tell type girl. Despite Lanie's insistence that Kate—and most of the city—know the graphic details of her sex life, Kate generally did not feel the need to share all that much. However, given how Rick's story was going, her curiosity was getting the better of her.

"We went out on a date—just dinner. She invited me back to her apartment because she wanted to show me something."

A small, "Oh god," escaped Kate's lips as she cringed. She had to fight to keep from laughing. Poor, poor naïve, innocent Rick, must have had no idea that going back to her apartment to show him something was code for having sex. "You didn't realize…"

"Right—because I was still thinking like an eleven-year-old…kind of. Anyway, we got inside and she just pounced on me. I was sitting on her couch, she kissed me, I was stunned because it was my first kiss and the next thing I knew she was, ah, um…" He began to stumble over his words, and his cheeks turned rosy as he gestured awkwardly towards his thighs.

Given the description he had already provided, Kate guessed, "Riding you?"

He bobbed his head. "Yes and saying all these things—she wanted me to tell her my story as she…" His voice drifted off as he made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

"Oh god Rick." Kate's statement came out as half a laugh, but the more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable it made her feel. This girl, whoever it was, had somewhat unknowingly taken advantage of him. Rick may not have known what was happening until it was, well, happening. "It…it kind of sounds like she assaulted you."

He nodded his head back and forth. "I see your point, but let's be honest: even if she had asked if I wanted to have sex before pouncing on me, I probably would have said yes anyway because I…I was still kind of living for the moment. You know?"

Kate hummed. Having been in contact with plenty nineteen-year-old men in her life, she also understood it from that perspective. "So…I'm guessing she was a bit too enthusiastic to tell you that you were a bad kisser."

"Correct. That happened later."

"Well…I don't know, Rick." She sighed and ran her fingers down the sides of her neck. "Do you think you're a bad kisser?"

"How would I know?"

She shrugged him off. "I'm sure its fine."

"But what if I'm really terrible? Maybe you could just-"

"Me?!" She reacted to the key word in his statement. "Oh no that's a terrible idea." Did she say terrible idea? Because she meant: _worst idea ever_. She was not kissing Rick. Nope. No way. Not going to happen. They were friends and wanted to stay friends and friends did not kiss.

The barista turned writer had other plans. He clasped his hands in front of him, begging. "Please. I know you'll be honest with me; you'll be objective."

"No."

"Please! Just one kiss!"

Kate shut her eyes and let out a breath through her nose. Was she considering this? No. No definitely not. She could not kiss him. She simply could not! If she kissed him, then that could open the door to—no. No. It wasn't happening.

She opened her eyes, fully prepared to tell him to have a good evening when his blue eyes met hers and she was reminded of the Missing poster with the blue eyed, floppy-haired little boy, who had spent seven years chained in a barn being forced to witness and do unspeakable things.

Shit.

"Ah…god, okay; one kiss." Without giving him a second to react, she took two steps forward, rose up on her toes, and pressed her lips against his for a fraction of a second. Turning away from him, she said, "See—that was fine."

"Wha-!?" He spluttered. "First, that was barely a kiss and second fine is code for terrible."

"Fine is not code for terrible."

"It is and you know it."

Kate said nothing. Fine _was_ code for terrible, but in truth the kiss had been too quick for her to make any sort of judgement so she turned back to him and nodded him forward, that time letting him kiss her and it was—

Oh god. Terrible. Way too wet. His lips were practically vacuuming over hers and the way he was jabbing his tongue into her mouth—she couldn't take it.

Pressing her hand against his sternum, she stepped back. She had only looked at him for the span of five seconds when he threw his hands up and spun around. "Jesus! I am terrible!"

Unable to deny his conclusion, she turned to constructive criticism. "You're just a bit too aggressive. Calm down."

After her recommendation, he kissed her again, and it was slightly improved until his tongue started jamming around inside her mouth again and she stepped back. "Wow, okay you're really quick with the tongue there, Rick. Just try keeping it to yourself for a bit and slow things down."

He whined. "I don't know how."

She looked at him, confident. "Yes you do. Shut your eyes and take a deep breath." When he did so, she stepped up to him and kissed him. Since he kept his tongue to himself, the kiss was okay—not amazing, but okay. She pulled back and patted his shoulder. "See, there; much better."

His expression brightened. "Ok, ok; I got it. Let me try again."

That time his lips parted gently over hers and his hands settled at her waist and—oh, yes, this was a great improvement. He was going slower and gentler with just the right amount of pressure. She was almost about to think that she was enjoying the kiss when his tongue slammed into the roof of her mouth with such force that she pushed her palm flat against his chest to stop him.

"Rick!" She scolded. "Too aggressive with the tongue!"

He stepped back, obviously mortified, so she quickly softened. "I'm sorry. I just…" She dusted her fingers over her forehead while trying the best way to help him. "How about this–next time you kiss a woman, let her be the one to initiate the tongue; follow her lead."

He nodded. "Okay. Show me."

She shook her head in refusal. Turning to walk towards her kitchen she said, "This isn't middle school."

"No, I never went there."

She laughed. "You're not going to guilt me in to doing this." Oh no, he wasn't going to play the tragic-youth card on this one. She had already gone above and beyond the call of friendship.

Dropping his chin to his chest he said, "Okay. Thanks. I'll just lea-"

"Stop."

Fuck. He had her wrapped around his finger, didn't he? She just couldn't stand to see him disappointed or upset. Setting her shoulders, Kate took in a deep, cleansing breath and prepared herself to kiss him for what she anticipated being the final time.

She returned to his side where he looked almost fearful of what was going to happen next. "What did I just tell you?

"Kids in middle school practiced kissing?"

She rolled her eyes. "Before that."

"Don't initiate the tongue." He repeated dutifully.

She nodded, stepped up, cradled her jaw with his hand and kissed him. She kissed him like she would have after a romantic dinner date, or an evening spent exploring the city streets handing in hand while laughter was shared between them. It started slow and easy, but the heat built as his arms wound around her waist and their lips came together again and again. She skimmed her tongue against his bottom lip twice before gliding it inside and sliding it over his. She felt tingles flow down her spine and settle low in her belly; a moment later the moan that escaped her own throat startled her into pulling back and putting a foot of distance in between them so she would not be tempted to kiss him again.

Breathing heavily, she looked at him and found that he gazed back at her with an equal amount of surprise and attraction. Shit—shit! This wasn't supposed to happen. She wasn't supposed to have feelings for him. Not when they were friends. Not when so much had happened to him and she was still as closed off as ever.

But, then again, didn't it make sense? They were really good friends—really good. One might even have concluded them to be best friends. He had shared so much with her, and she had told him that her mother had been murdered; she rarely told anyone that. Maybe she did have feelings for Rick and maybe that wasn't a bad thing—but, it was not something she needed to address in that moment after she'd been making out with him. After she'd been—Jesus—trying to help him be a better kisser.

As she was certain her cheeks were red, she turned away from him and said, "Yeah. That was, uh, good. Just, um, keep working on that and you'll be fine."

"I…okay. Thanks Kate. I guess I'll just um…"

"Yep, have a good evening!" She said goodbye without ever turning around. Once she heard the door shut behind her, she collapsed face-first against the countertop and moaned.

God. What the hell had she done?

* * *

 **A/N** : this chapter is contrived and ridiculous and I'm not even a little bit sorry.


	10. Chapter 10

**TEN**

Sitting at her desk on that chilly November morning, Kate pulled her blazer tighter around her body and tugged her sleeves all the way down over her wrists. For some reason, the precinct seemed extra drafty that winter. Then again, perhaps because October had been atypically warm, the heat just had not regulated itself yet. If that was the case, she wished for it to quickly balance itself out. Otherwise, she'd need to bring in a blanket for her desk.

After rubbing her hands together in an attempt to thaw them, Kate moved her fingers back across her computer keyboard to finish filling out her warrant request. She sighed out as she tapped the "submit" button with her mouse cursor, hoping that this would finally solve her case so the killer could be brought to justice. Glancing into her coffee mug she saw it was down to the dregs and screwed up her nose in displeasure. She picked up the item, stood from her desk quickly, and spun around only to stumble back a step, shocked at who she saw cautiously exiting the elevator and looking out of place while standing in the hall.

"Rick?"

His eyes fell on her and his face instantly relaxed into a smile. Then, he gave her a little wave. Regaining her footing, she approached him with the coffee cup cradled in her hands. "What are you doing here?"

"I got some fun news and I wanted to share. Is that okay?"

She nodded. "Sure. Come with me to the breakroom, I need some-"

"Coffee?" He held up a white Starbucks takeaway cup as a grin spread across his face.

Kate's eyes widened and she let out a slight laugh as her hands slid around the cup. She had been so shocked to see him that she had focused only on his face and to that point had not noticed what he carried in is hand. "I—oh. Thank you! This is _exactly_ what I need right now."

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment and then gazed around the space bustling with men and women in and out of uniform, some leading around handcuffed perpetrators, others carrying stacks of files. "So…this is where you work."

Kate hummed as the delightful vanilla taste swirled over her tongue, slipped down her throat and warmed her from the inside. Yeah, precinct coffee would never, ever tastes that good. "Yep, this is it. I'd give you a tour but there isn't much else to see unless you want to go to interrogation."

He quirked up the left side of his lips. "Thanks but once in a lifetime was more than enough for me."

She gave him a double take, shocked at his implication. "The New Hampshire P.D. put a victim in interrogation?" Had she been part of the team that found him, she would have never, ever done such a thing—especially to someone with his history. He'd spent the better part of a decade locked in a barn; the last thing he needed was another windowless room.

"In fairness, I think they were trying to shield me from everyone. Their conferences rooms were glass like these. Maybe they didn't have blinds?" He guessed aloud then shook his head. "Not sure, it's kind of a blur. I only specifically remember being in interrogation and feeling very cold."

She reached out and stroked her hand down his arm. "Then why don't we just go and see my desk?"

When his smile returned, she led the way, setting her now rejected coffee mug off to the side of her desk and continuing to cradle the take-away cup warming up her hands. "Nothing too fancy—just a desk and a computer, but at least I have a guest chair."

"May I?" he asked, nodding to it. She smiled at him and they both sat. He leaned his elbow against her desk and continued with his news. "Guess what I found out today?"

She set her coffee down and mirrored his posture asking, "What?"

"They're going to start designing the cover for _Flowers for Your Grave_ and I get to help!"

She could not help but smile at his child-like enthusiasm. He sounded as though he had been provided a rare and exciting gift. Yet, in reality, she would have been quite shocked if the author of a book had not been permitted to aid in the design of his book cover; it only seemed logical. "That's great, Rick; very exciting."

"It is! But really complicated, too. Like, it's not just the background image, but the font style and the color of the font and the position of the font—it was easier to come up with the story!"

She chuckled, sure he was being facetious. "Well…white on a darker background always pops—if that's what you want. It's your book, though."

"Would you like to come see the mockups they set me? I'd really appreciate a second opinion; I think they want a decision sooner than later."

Kate nodded. The quick deadline made sense given that his book was schedule to go to print early the following year. As the manuscript had been finalized, the cover seemed the next natural step. "Sure, I'd be happy to. I'm not sure it will be tonight, though. If so, it'll be much later; I'm in the middle of a case." She explained nodding towards the whiteboard beside her desk.

Rick glanced over to it, stared at it for a moment before standing up and walking over to get a closer look of the crime scene photos of their victim and the summary of the details they knew about the case. Just as she was about to warn him that they had not updated it yet that day, her thought was interrupted by her coworker Esposito walking over and saying, "Yo." Kate looked up to him quickly as he'd surprised her, and he continued with, "I got those financials you—hey, buddy, look don't touch."

Kate turned her head in the direction of Esposito's narrowed gaze and saw that Rick had pulled their victim's photo out from beneath the magnets holding it on to the whiteboard. He appeared startled at the accusation and quickly tried to put the photo back only to drop both magnets onto the floor.

"It's okay, Espo," Kate said, picking up the magnet that landed by her foot and handing it back to her friend. "That's my friend, Rick; remember him? You met before when we were canvassing."

Espo's brow furrowed for a moment and then his eyes flashed with recognition. "The kidnapped guy?"

"Yes," she said with a slight edge to her tone, not wanting Rick to be known only for that event. Then, turning back to her friend she gave a soft smile. "I was just showing him around."

"Sorry; I didn't mean to mess with your things." Rick apologized. "I just…The victim wasn't strangled—at least, not to death." As he spoke, he pointed with the picture he held towards the writing below it, which read "COD: Strangulation?"

Kate pressed her lips together as she looked at him, curious. This was the part of the murder board that had not yet been updated; they knew the cause of death was not actually strangulation, but she was curious as to his reasoning, so she encouraged him with, "Why do you say that?"

"Because this," he said, gesturing towards the fingerprint bruising marks on the victim's neck, "is all wrong." Looking at Kate, he asked, "May I?"

She nodded him on and he quickly set the photo down on the edge of her desk. Sliding his hands over Kate's neck, he mimicked the bruises in the photo with his four fingers at the side of her neck and his thumbs running parallel with her windpipe. "Look how awkward this is. It's not a natural position, nor would it be effective, because you can still breathe, right?"

Of course, he was barely touching her so her breathing was never in danger, but she confirmed with a nod.

"It I was going to strangle you, I'd do this." He moved his thumbs so they were perpendicular to the base of her throat, crossing over her windpipe. He held them there for a second to demonstrate and then moved his thumbs back into the position depicted. "This is just bizarre. It's like I'd grab you and shake you like I was angry with you, but it's not your cause of death. Oh, also, your killer is left handed."

"Why's that?" Esposito asked.

Rick removed his hands from Kate's neck and she had to admit she was disappointed to feel them go. His hands had been so warm against her chilled skin, his skin so soft. Feeling her cheeks flush, she shook her head so her hair fell out from behind her ears and hid the color in her skin; maybe it was warm enough in the building after all.

When the picture of the victim held up against his chest, Rick pointed to the fingertip shadows on either side of the victim's neck. "The marks on the left are slightly more prominent than the ones on the right, which would indicate the attacker's left hand was stronger than his or her right. Odds are that means the killer is left dominant or left handed. Not a guarantee since his or her right hand could have been recently injured, but most likely they're left handed."

A proud smile on her face, Kate turned to Esposito and saw that he wore a perturbed expression. "He a PI or something?"

"No." She replied with great amusement. "He's a writer."

While Esposito scoffed, Kate plucked the victim's picture from Castle's hand and tacked it back onto the murder board. "The victim was not strangled, but poisoned; the bruising on his throat occurred pre-mortem. We have just requested a warrant to arrest our suspect. I don't know if he's left-handed or not, but I'll be sure to check."

The writer's expression brightened. "I was right?"

She bobbed her head. "Impressive observational skills, Mr. Castle."

A slightly stunned expression crossed his face as he looked back and forth between the murder board and Kate. Then, slowly, as his brow knit, it morphed into one of curiosity. "Hey, um, you can totally say no to this but I was thinking—I don't know a lot about police procedure and it might really help my next book if I could ask some questions maybe shadow you for a day or two. Would that be possible?"

She nodded her head and her heart fluttered at the prospect of being able to share a day with him. "I think we could work something out."

His forehead relaxed and he stepped closer, lowering his voice. "Are you sure? You'd tell me if I'm asking too much of you, right?"

She shook off his concern. "It's not a problem. I do have to get back to this case, though. Thanks for the coffee and I'll call you later about checking out those book cover designs, okay?"

"Oh, yes! Of course! Sure! Talk to you later, Kate!"

Kate could not help but laugh at his giddy tone and the sight of him practically skipping towards the elevator. Once he'd disappeared she turned back to her desk and sighed; back to reality.

* * *

Later that day, Kate sat on the worn sofa in Rick's cramped apartment while he cleaned up the font samples and color scheme examples Black Pawn had sent him to review for the cover of his inaugural book. Though Kate had brushed off his earlier comments that the task was very complicated, she soon saw he had not actually been exaggerating that much. The color samples and background images seemed quite simple compared to the vast array of fonts provided. The longer they looked, the more she was glad she did not have to make the final decision, but Rick said that he had helped her narrow it down, which made her feel successful in her endeavor.

"Oh—I almost forgot. Did you arrest a suspect today?" Rick asked once all the samples were put back into the folder Black Pawn sent him.

"Ah, yes." Kate informed him happily as she got up to put her now empty beer bottle in the recycle bin under his kitchen sink. "And you'll be pleased to know he is left handed."

His expression brightened. "Awesome. Well, not awesome obviously because someone died, but...well, anyway, he's the guy then?"

She nodded. "DA's going to charge him in the morning. He maintains his innocence, but we have security camera footage of him outside the building on the night of the murder, and his financials show he was in pretty dire straits and we had several witnesses report that he owed the victim money. The pieces seem to fit."

Rick's brow wrinkled and he appeared to be in deep contemplation for several moments before he asked, "Does that happen often? You charge someone who insists they're innocent."

"I don't think I'd call it often. I don't always get a confession—maybe seventy percent of the time I do? Some people maintain their innocence no matter how much evidence clearly displays their guilt."

His eyes clouded over as he walked back to the sofa and sat down. Resting his forearms against his thighs he leaned forward, dropping his head a little. "I…I'm glad I didn't have to go through that."

"So am I." Being forced to sit through a trial, being forced to testify to all the horrors he'd witnessed and experienced would have been a terrible fate for Rick. In fact, it might very well have pushed him over the edge from recovering young man to total basket case. Thankfully neither he— nor the families of his other victims—had to endure that.

Clearing his throat, Rick looked back up to her. "Sorry. Didn't mean to drag the mood down. Let's talk about something else."

"Ah, okay." She tried to come up with a new topic on the fly, but suddenly found herself saying, "Make out with anyone recently?" It had been a little over a week since their kissing education session and she had failed to push it from her mind. Every time she saw him, she thought about their lips pressed together. She woke up thinking about it. She went to bed thinking about it. It only made sense that she brought it up in conversation.

He let out a breathy noise somewhere between a laugh and a gasp. "Actually, no. I, uh, made a decision on that front."

She tiled her head, intrigued. "Oh?"

"Yeah I… I think maybe I shouldn't make out with any random women for a while. That is…I was talking to my therapist about it in our last session and I think sometimes I try to overcompensate for stuff—try to hide my past, make it seem like I'm completely normal. But I'm not normal. This thing that happened to me will always be a part of me and I feel like the person I try to be with the next time needs to know about it."

Kate nodded; his comment made perfect sense to her. Normally, she would have suggested a person live for the present and not the past, but this event had been so monumental that it affected his present and thus honesty seemed the best way to go. "I don't disagree with that, but at the same time 'I was held hostage for 7 years' isn't exactly a first date conversation."

He nodded and rubbed his hand over his mouth. "No, I know that. So that's why I'm thinking maybe I should try to be friends with the woman first. It would be beneficial, especially considering the other things about me…"

"Such as…?" She led, wondering if it was something new or merely the things she'd already heard about.

He gazed over at her and deadpanned, "Well if you thought I was bad at kissing…"

Not expecting this, she almost laughed. Rick's comedic side, especially in the way of self-depreciating humor, really had begun to shine over the prior months as his confidence grew. Still, as his non-joke processed in her mind, she felt her cheeks turning pink. Oh god. She had experienced Rick's kissing. When extrapolating that into more intimate acts…she would have cringed if she had not been trying so hard to keep a neutral expression for him.

"Don't worry—I won't ask you to help me with that with me." He added a minute later. That time, she did laugh in response.

He smiled gently before continuing. "But seriously: it's not just that. It's… The truth is that I've never been in a relationship that lasted more than a month or so. The women either couldn't tolerate my bad kissing, the sex or just…me feeling the need to conceal my past, seem normal. We'd be going along okay and then something would happen – something that a person with a normal childhood would have been able to handle, but I'd freeze and things would fall apart. I've never been in love. I don't think anyone's ever loved me."

"Rick..." His confession absolutely shattered her heart and drew a tear from her eye. That was it; that was her moment of no return. Standing in his apartment, listening to him confess such things, she wanted more than anything to tell him that his statement wasn't true, that people did love him and she was one of them, but she couldn't; she wasn't in that space yet.

God, she wanted to love him. She wanted to be the person that brought a smile to his face and drew laughter from his lips. In many ways she did love him and she was already that person for him, just as he was for her. He was sweet and kind and without question the person she favored most in the world, but he had gone above and beyond. By his own admission he had been more open and honest with her than anyone previously in his life. If they were going to be in a relationship she owed him the same courtesy.

She would get there—hopefully sooner than later. She had to get there.

After almost a full minute of silence he looked up at her, brushed a stray tear from his cheek and sniffed back a few that had yet to fall. "You'd tell me if I'm fucked up beyond repair, right? My therapist can't but-"

"No!" She insisted, dropping to the couch beside him and cradling his body against hers. "You are not fucked up beyond repair. Far from it. I promise you." She held him tight for several moments before pulling back and cupping his jaw so he'd look her in the eye. "Rick, listen to me – you are a wonderful man. You're so kind; you have such a big heart, and I know there are times you don't think you're normal but I promise you're not that different from anyone else, especially when it comes to relationship insecurities. Any woman would be lucky to have you."

"Could you write a letter of recommendation for me to keep in my wallet?"

Despite herself, she laughed. "If you think that would help…"

He lifted up his hand to grab on to hers. "This helps. Having someone to talk to like a friend and not a therapist. You have no idea what a relief it is that you've never said 'and how does that make you feel?'"

Again, she laughed. Then, brushing a tear away from her jaw with the back of her hand, she jumped back to his earlier comment. "But seriously: I think 'friends first' is a really good idea for you, Rick. It sounds like the more comfortable you are with someone, the easier it is to open up, and that's what you need. Besides, 'friends first' is nice for any relationship if you can manage it."

"Have you done it?"

She bobbed her head. "Once in college. Not since. It's harder to make new friends as an adult." Harder? More like impossible, especially when she worked crazy hours. "You'll meet someone through work" people always told her, until they remembered that most of the people she met through work were felons.

"So that's not just me?"

She patted his arm. "Not at all."

Though he did look noticeably relaxed, he still shook his head and sighed as he flopped back against the couch. "I just don't know… some days I think it would be easier to give up and become a hermit."

She shook her head. "That's not who you are; you like people too much. You have a light inside you…don't hide it away from everyone. You came out the other side of a tragedy stronger than before; don't ever forget that."

He reached out and squeezed her hand. "Thanks Kate."

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you so much for all the positive response to the last chapter - so glad you're enjoying this story

only two more chaps + epilogue after this one!


	11. Chapter 11

**ELEVEN**

On the last Sunday in November Kate sat in her apartment as tears fell down her cheeks at even intervals. She had not moved or spoken since the phone call she made just after she arrived home. She had simply curled up on her couch with her feet tucked under her and a blanket draped over her lap and waited for her friend to arrive. Maybe she shouldn't have called him—it was the last day of a holiday weekend and she knew he had been busy working until the wee hours of that morning, but the fact of the matter was she wanted to call him, especially after the weekend she'd had.

She heard a knock at her door, but did not move to get up; she had provided him a key before leaving on her admittedly brief holiday weekend trip in case anything had come up. Nothing had until she called and asked if he would come over, and it appeared he was merely knocking to announce his arrival, because a moment later she heard the key grind in the lock.

"Kate? Sorry I tried to get her as fast as I could but I missed the train and had to wait for—what's wrong?" He asked immediately when his eyes met hers. He dropped down on the couch beside her and asked, "Did something happen to your dad?"

She sniffed and reached for another tissue to add to the crumpled collection beside her. "No, no; he's fine."

"Did you have an argument? Or did something else happen?"

She shook her head. "No, nothing happened…not recently, anyway. It was just…being there around the pictures and memories of my mom."

Maybe it had been a terrible decision to go to the cabin for Thanksgiving, but her father had been so positive about it she did not want to shut him down. He went there far more often than she so he was used to it: the photographs and memories. As the weekend wore on, she became completely overwhelmed by them and it was all she could do not to break down, but she couldn't—not in front of her father. She had to wait until she was safely in her apartment and then it all came spilling out.

"I wanted to talk about her if—if you wanted to listen."

He smiled at her his gentle, warm smile that made her feel safe—like she mattered. "Of course, Kate. I'd be happy to listen. What do you want to tell me about her?"

She shrugged and wiped beneath her eyes with a tissue. "I don't know where to start."

"Well, how about with what she did? Was she a professor like your dad?"

Kate shook her head. "No, but they worked together. They were both lawyers at a big firm. According to them, Dad had a crush on her forever, but she was oblivious and too focused on her work. They got together eventually, though. Obviously." She added with a gentler tone.

"She, um, she eventually quit that firm and started her own—a non-profit meant to give a voice to those who had been victimized by the legal system; to those who hadn't had a fair chance. She'd only been doing it a few years before she was killed."

After dropping her used up tissue to the ground Kate reached for another and sniffled into it for several moments before looking up to him. "I think I told you I was nineteen when she died?" He nodded in confirmation. "It was January, just a few weeks after Christmas. I went to Stanford in California, but I was still home on break. We were supposed to meet for dinner—her, my dad, and I. She never showed. When my dad and I got back to the apartment there was a detective waiting for us."

"What happened?" he asked cautiously.

"She was s-stabbed," she said, her voice breaking on the word. "Left to bleed to death in an alley. She still had her wallet and her jewelry. They never found her killer; the police attributed it to a random, wayward event. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She felt his hand skim down her back when she reached for another tissue only to realize it was the last one in the box. "Want me to go buy you more?" he asked quickly, standing even before she could respond.

"No, no; there's another box in my bedroom—bedside table just inside the door." She gestured with the tissue towards the door to their left. He disappeared and returned a minute later with the pale blue square box. She thanked him.

"Did the police ever have any suspects?"

"No. I'd like to think they tried, but I'm honestly not sure; it was in an area of town known for gang violence at the time."

"But then…why was she there?"

Kate let out a breathy sound. God, how many times had she asked herself that same question? Countless. Sadly, it always came back to the same answer. "We don't know; we never figured it out."

"I'm sorry."

She shook off his apology before continuing her story. "It was so strange because…in an instant my whole life had changed. Just like that." She snapped her fingers. "I was living one life and then suddenly it just…took a sharp left turn and everything was different."

"I know that feeling." He commented wryly.

Her bloodshot eyes widened in his direction. "I didn't mean to-"

"I know." He closed his hand over her forearm. "It's okay; I shouldn't have interrupted you. Keep going."

She closed her eyes momentarily, remembering the bleak place she had been in. "I had to go back to school and it was…dreadful. My friends didn't know what to say with me—they always looked at me with such pity. I ended up breaking up with the boyfriend I had at the time. Everything was slipping through my fingers—including the family I had left. My father he, ah, turned to drinking to cope with the loss."

"Oh Kate." Rick exhaled, squeezing her forearm a bit harder.

"As soon as I saw how hard he was taking it, I decided to transfer to a school back home; I couldn't be that far away from him. I spent the summer evenings searching for him at every bar within walking distance of our place and hauling him home, drunken and stumbling. It was then I just shut down. Instead of healing up, I callused over and built a wall around my heart. My mother's death was painful enough, but the way my father was kept hurting me again and again and I just…couldn't. I decided not to let anyone in anymore, because if I didn't let them in they couldn't hurt me."

Rick's face contorted into one bordering on agony. He shook his head gently as he looked at her. "You were…twenty years old?"

"Not even."

"And…and you've felt that way ever since? You've never met anyone who made you want to change?"

She shrugged, too consumed by her aching heart in that moment to realize how disheartened his tone seemed. "If I did, I never got close enough to find out. If ever I found myself drifting into that space with someone, I ended it."

"That sounds lonely." He concluded. "And that's coming from someone who knows lonely better than the back of his own hand."

She smiled gently for the first time since he arrived. "It wasn't that bad. For me, it was better than the alternative—all that heartbreak and pain…I just couldn't."

He grunted and remained silent for a moment before asking, "How long did it take for your dad to get help?"

Her lips twisted wryly. "Which time? He picked himself up by October after his sister had some pretty stern words with him and tried to quit cold turkey. He did well for a while, then he'd drift back, then he'd do well again…and drift back. So on it went until right after I graduated college and went to the police academy. He was really bad then, but he finally went to rehab and has been sober ever since."

"I'm glad to hear that—for both your sakes."

She nodded. "Yeah, no I'm really proud of him. Really, really proud. There were many times when he could have fallen off that wagon again, but he didn't."

"So then what part of this weekend upset you so much?"

A smile flickered on her face before she changed positions on the couch, turning to face him and sitting with her legs folded in front of her. "Do you remember that 5K we did and how you kind of tried to ask me out after?"

He let out a laugh of recognition and rolled his head back. " _That_ feels like a lifetime ago."

"It's been seven months." She reminded him. "But I know what you mean."

How far had their relationship come in that time? Back then, she'd just thought he was a quirky guy who made a killer cup of coffee. Sure, he'd mentioned the kidnapping, but for all she knew at that point he was gone less than twenty-four hours. She could never have fathomed the horrors he had experienced, but she was indescribably glad that she had been able to get to know him—all of him—and help him even in a small way to blossom into the incredible man that sat beside her.

"I told you then that I wasn't able to date because I was so busy with work, but that wasn't exactly true. The truth is that I had been trying to look into my mother's case—to solve her murder—but I failed."

His brow wrinkled at he looked at her. "What do you mean failed?"

"I didn't find her killer; how else would you say that."

"That's not failing." He assured her. "You can only fail if you didn't try. From what I know about you, I'm certain you tried harder at this than anything before in your life. Just because you couldn't solve a cold case doesn't mean you failed."

"But I failed her—that's how it felt, anyway. I was able to get closure for so many other families, but I couldn't for myself." She shook her head bitterly. Even almost a year later the notion still bit harder at her soul than anything she'd ever experienced. "You're absolutely right – I did try harder at that than anything before. I looked into every possible lead. Re-interviewed her coworkers, people she was affiliated with at the time. I thought it related to one of her cases, but those all seemed to be dead ends. I poured over her notes and files again and again. I dedicated my life to it for months until I realized it was slowly eating away at my life—eating away at me. I had to let it go, and it was the hardest thing I ever did in my entire life."

Rick reached out and picked up her hand in his. "When was that?"

"January; seven years after her death." She sniffed back a new batch of tears before continuing. "I knew I had to let it go, but it was such a strong draw for me. I thought for months if I just looked at it one more time then maybe I'd see it: the key that opened Pandora's Box, but it's not there. I know that now. That's what I was trying to accept when you asked me out. I had to put that case behind me for good or it wouldn't have been fair."

"And," he began tentatively, "have you done that now?"

She nodded. "I had…until being around her things for three days reminded me what a wonderful person she was and how shitty it is that whoever killed her still gets to walk around free."

"It is shitty. It's terribly shitty. It's shitty for you. It's shitty for the other victim's families whose cases also went unsolved, but Kate you can't fix the world. You do a damn good job of trying—a damn good one. You're incredible at what you do, truly, but you can't solve every case and you have to let go of the ones you can't. I understand how hard it is to let go of something that's a part of you like that, but you have to try."

"I know." She nodded. "I know that and I will get back to that place where I want to be—that place where I can be in a relationship with someone."

He sat up a bit straighter and looked at her with intense curiosity. "A real relationship? One where you're open and not walled off?"

She hummed and brushed her thumb over the back of the hand holding hers. "Yeah; I think I'm almost ready for that, too."

"Well I…" He swallowed noticeably and then cleared his throat. "I'm glad to hear that; you deserve it."

"Thanks," she said, dipping her chin. She hoped, though was not entirely sure, that he caught her implication—that he was the only man she could even fathom being with in that way. He was the man she'd chosen to open herself up to, to tell all her dark secrets to, because he was the only one who could understand.

She knew she probably shouldn't have—that with his atypical past when it came to relationships it might confuse him or mislead him in some way, but she just couldn't help herself from doing it anyway. After mopping her cheeks one last time, she fell forward and rested her head against his shoulder, snuggling her body against his. He responded by looping his arms around her and holding her tight without saying a word.

"Thanks again for coming over."

"Of course. Would you like me to stay the night?"

She should have said no, but it felt so nice not to be alone—almost as though the wounds on her heart were already beginning to heal. "That would be nice, but only if you want."

"Of course, Kate." He promised. "I'll stay as long as you want."


	12. Chapter 12

**TWELVE**

"Okay, okay—let me see it," Kate said as she walked into Rick's apartment, not even bothering to say hello when he opened the door and let her inside. She pulled off her coat, draped it over the back of one of the two wooden chairs in his kitchen, spun around and looked at him expectantly. He remained beside the door, the Christmas lights tacked around the frame giving him an angelic-like glow.

"To what are you referring?" he asked, taking a step forward.

Kate did not bother to hide her eye roll. Honestly! He had texted her about it at eleven a.m., just three hours into her shift, meaning she had been waiting impatiently for the "surprise" his text referenced for six hours and ten minutes. "It! The book!"

"What book?" he replied. That time his innocence faltered because the very edge of his lips quirked up in a smile, though he tried to hide it.

She walked over and gave him a playful shove on the chest. "Rick!" She half-whined, half-groaned. "C'mon! I know the surprise is your book. Let me see!"

Ever since Black Pawn told him on the first of December that he would be receiving a draft printed copy of his novel to approve the layout Rick had spoken about almost nothing else. He worked it into every conversation they had and, beginning on the fifth, lamented about how slow the mail was and complained that the wait was killing him. Kate didn't mind his one track mind too much; he was just excited and she was excited for him; however, as time wore on she did wish the document would arrive sooner than later for all their sakes.

Kate loved Rick's book—even more after he'd improved the dialog and descriptions—but she had to admit to being stunned at the overwhelmingly positive response he was getting from his publisher—and the speed at which the book was moving through the process. She did not expect it would take years before the book went to print, but less than six months felt like almost blinding speed.

As the date of publication drew nearer, Kate felt herself growing progressively anxious for her friend. They were still several months out, but as quickly as time passed they would soon arrive at the release date. She wanted his book to be a success both critically and with sales volume. She just knew the potential was there—it truly was a better story than many she'd read—but that did not necessarily mean it would be a sales success. That was, in some ways, luck and marketing, which they could not control. More than anything, though, she hoped a poor performance would not discourage him; she wanted him to keep going with his writing as he had never seemed happier about anything.

That morning when Rick had texted her to let her know about a "surprise early Christmas present" he had for her, she knew he had received a copy of the book. It had to be the book if for no other reason than it was the first morning he had not whined to her about not getting it yet. With the news, she felt the flutter of nerves in her belly stirring; this book had to be amazing—it just had to. Rick deserved it.

His cheeky grin grew larger—if that was possible. "What if I just got you a really nice pair of gloves?"

"RICK!"

"Okay, okay—I'm kidding, of course." With that, he walked over to the desk tucked in the corner by his bed and returned with a standard sized manila envelope in his hands. From it, he pulled the stack of white pages bound with gold clips on the left side. Proudly, he held it out to her. "It doesn't have the cover art on it, but you can still get the idea."

Kate let out a squeal as the book fell into her hands. Looking up to him, her face practically aching from how wide her smile was, she chortled. "Oh Rick! It's real—it's really real!"

He chuckled. "Well, kind of. It's not hard bound, yet—then it'll be real."

"Close enough!" She insisted. Then, without second though, she hurried over to his couch to sit down. Opening the front cover page, she began to leaf through. After the title page, she had expected to see the first chapter, but instead was shocked to see just two words reflecting back at her.

 _For Kate_

The dedication; he had dedicated the book to her. To her!

Instantly upon viewing the words Kate felt a barrage of emotions wash over her. She felt her skin flush and tears prick her eyes while tingles flowed down her spine. The dedication could not have been simpler. There was no flowery language or professions of gratitude; just two words and in that moment she had never wanted to see anything more.

"Me?" she said softly, still looking at the page. She dusted her index finger over the words before looking up to him and finding he watched her with adoration. "You dedicated it to me?"

His smile never wavered as he said, "There's no way I could have done it without you."

She shook her head with disbelief. "You wrote it before we met."

He dropped down beside her on the sofa. "In an unpublishable form! You helped me get it to where it needed to be and encouraged me. I'd have none of this if it weren't for you—my best friend."

The sparkle in her eyes made her say, "Thank you; that's very kind," but his words made her heart fall ever so slightly. If her expression showed it, the writer did not notice. Instead, he squeezed her arm quickly and bounded off the couch.

"Now, of course you can skim through that as much as you like, but what do you want for dinner? Do you want me to order us something? I can probably go pickup Chinese from that place we tried last time. I think I still have the menu." He walked over to his kitchen and began rummaging through one of the drawers. "And, you know me—as soon as I got that I already started mentally spending my money. Nothing too crazy, of course, but definitely some more college classes. Literature, creative writing, and maybe even—what's wrong?"

By that point, Kate was certain her smile had dropped almost completely from her face. She shook her head, trying to brush it off, not wanting him to know how disappointed she was inside, because that moment was not about her—it was about him. "Nothing."

He pulled his hands from the drawer and took two steps towards her. "But you look so sad. Why? Are you unhappy with the dedication?"

She quickly shook her head and placed the manuscript on the couch beside her. Standing up she promised him, "Oh no, never." The dedication was unbelievably kind and absolutely something she would have expected of him once she thought about it. She could not put into words how much the acknowledgement touched her.

His brow knitted. "Then what is it?"

She pushed herself from the couch and brushed off his concern. Walking towards the kitchen she said, "It doesn't matter; let's find that menu."

"Kate." He caught her arm as she walked by him—damn the tight apartment space—and held her firm until she met his eye. "It's not okay if you're upset. Please tell me what's wrong."

Her heart flipped over in her chest and her breath caught in the hollow of her throat. The words "best friend" echoed around in her mind and her gut instinct was to run. Get away, go home, find that iron padlock for her heart once more and fasten it on tightly, but that was what she always did—she ran. She didn't want to run, not from Rick. He was her best friend, too, and she loved him. She was _in love_ with him and that's what hurt. She didn't want to just be the best friend—she wanted more.

For over seven years the concept of "more" seemed unfathomable; incomprehensible. She didn't want to open up so she didn't get hurt, but then Rick came along and she drew herself ever closer to him. She didn't want to be hurt by him, but there she was on the cusp of being hurt via "The Friend Zone." Given that, she knew she would face no further pain by simply asking the question. Otherwise, she might wonder forever.

"I just…" She took a half step back and his hand slid down from her bicep to the crook of her elbow. "Do you ever think there's a time when we might be more than just best friends?"

She watched him swallow hard and for a quiet twenty seconds he stared at her. Then, tentatively, he began, "You mean a time when you're the first and only woman I've fallen in love with and by some miracle you love me too?"

Her heart rate sped slightly and a soft smile crossed her lips. The term miracle almost made sense—but not when directed at her. Loving Rick was easy—so easy it was almost terrifying for her—but Rick? He was the miracle and far more incredible than he had any right to be. "Something like that, yeah."

"Could that time be now?"

Her heart swelled and a tear burned a path from her left eye, down past her nose and to the corner of her mouth where Rick caught it with the brush of his thumb. Cupping her face with his hands he said, "Kate, I love you. I probably have since the first day you smiled at me, but I didn't know what that feeling was. I was scared and confused for sixteen years. Terrified that no one could love me because of how damaged I was—especially you, because you saw more of me than I'd ever let anyone see before, but I still fell in love with you and…and I'd like to be with you if you think you can stand me and my leftover trauma."

She almost winced at his last words for they made her so sad. How could he truly believe that? "If I can stand you? Rick, you're my best friend and I love you, too." The words spilled out without any hesitation. They were quickly followed by more tears and the brightest smile she had in quite some time. "Of course I love you. Admittedly I tried to fight it. I thought that maybe two damaged people shouldn't be in a relationship together-"

"Let's be honest here, Kate – compared to me you're one hundred percent normal."

She shook her head. "I'm not. But the more I thought about it the more I realize we're just what each other needed." It seemed crazy, and she never could have properly explained it, but love didn't need to be explained; that would ruin the magic. All her life she'd imagined finding a perfect man with a good job who was serious about work and accepted her workaholic tendencies as well, but perfect men did not exist. Those who came close were ones she never felt comfortable around, but the man before her who was rough around the edges, battered and bruised, made her feel happier and more at ease than she ever had before and that was how she knew; he was the one for her.

Smiling, he said. "I could not agree more."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he echoed. And then, he kissed her.

Kate melted into him, winding her arms around his waist. As his hands still held her neck gently she parted his lips, took him in, and let out a soft moan. Unlike their prior kisses, when Rick's overzealous aggression was too much of a turn off, this one was the complete opposite. His lips were soft and gentle against hers and he tasted like cinnamon chewing gum.

When their lips separated she hummed and bumped their foreheads together. "Mmm you got better at that."

"That's not possible – I haven't kissed anyone since I kissed you."

She opened her eyes and leaned back to meet his gaze saying, "I haven't either." They shared a breathy laugh before kissing once more. That time it was Rick who let out the moan of pleasure.

"Mmm okay I don't even know what to do now I'm so happy. Should we order dinner now?"

"We don't have to."

"Okay...What should we do instead?"

A blip of laughter escaped her lips and she skimmed her hands down his chest. "Do I really have to spell it out?" She quipped, but his brow wrinkled with genuine confusion and she let out a little gasp. Oh, dear. He really was a novice at this. "You really don't know…"

"What are you talking about" he asked with a tone of concern.

"Sex, Rick."

"S—oh. Oh."

As his ears turned tomato-red, she looped her arms around his neck and grazed her fingertips over the edge of his t-shirt. Seeing as she was completely in love with him and he had just dedicated his book to her, making love seemed the next natural step, but if he didn't want to rush, she would not pressure him even if it had been quite some time since she'd been with someone. "Do you want to wait? We can if you'd feel more comfortable. I don't mind."

He took a step back from her and combed a hand through his hair. Cupping the back of his neck he looked at her tentatively. "I just…I'm not…"

"Rick." She walked over to him and gently placed her palms on the sides of his face. In her mind flashed his joke from several months earlier: _If you think I'm bad at kissing…_ But she didn't mind. Whatever happened, they would work through it—together. "You don't have to be nervous. I love you, all of you, and whatever happens is okay. And if at some point you want to stop, just say so and we will."

His expression turned a bit sheepish. "I have done this before."

"I know that."

"Just not that many times…or very well." He confessed.

She offered a soft smile as an answer and leaned in to kiss him once more. Grasping on to the sides of his t-shirt, she backed her way across his tiny apartment until they reached the edge of his bed. There, she momentarily separated their lips so she could pull his t-shirt up over his head. Then, she kissed him once more.

Though she could feel his pulse racing, he did seem to relax once they sat on the bed. As her hands explored his chest and abdomen his roamed her arms and shoulders until he grazed a hand down her side, pausing to cup her breast. She smiled against his mouth and pulled him in a bit closer, using that opportunity to skim her fingers all the way down his belly and dip them into the waistband of his jeans; he groaned.

A chuckle escaped her lips when her hand cupped his crotch and she could feel his excitement for the situation. She thought things would go smoothly from there, but as soon as she unbuttoned his jeans he rolled away from her, embarrassed. "Wait please."

She pulled her hand back and nodded. "Okay."

"I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Don't be. Do you just want to slow down or do you want to stop?"

He glanced up at her briefly and folded his hands in his lap. "Do you…do you remember when we were at Coney Island and you asked about my ankle and I told you that wasn't the only scar I had?"

She swallowed hard and nodded, not liking the direction this was taking.

"I should probably warn you about something…"

The guilt on his face broke her heart and she reached out to touch his arm gently. When he ventured a glance at her, she asked softly, "May I see?"

He stood off the bed and undid the fastening on his jeans as though the act were a precursor to entering an executioner's chamber. At that point, she was certain there would be something wrong with his penis, but (fortunately for both of them) that was not the case. Since she was so convinced whatever scar he referred to would be on his genitals she didn't see it at first, but when she did, she let out a soft, "Oh."

Just a few millimeters above his left hip bone was a crescent shaped scar. The closet she looked, Kate realized it was not one, but two scars similar in shape to an opening and closing parenthesis, though one was far more prominent than the other. Despite the peculiar placement, it only took Kate a few seconds to deduce the origin of the scars. "He bit you?"

He shook his head. "Not him."

Kate felt her face flush. If not his captor then…good god, one of the women? She swallowed hard and looked up at him, waiting for him to continue, but he never did, so she said his name softly.

He moved his hands so that they covered his groin. "If I tell you this story it'll ruin the mood."

Judging by what was revealed when he removed his pants and boxers, his mood was already ruined, but Kate didn't care. She didn't care if they didn't have sex that night, in the next week or even in the next month if Rick wasn't comfortable. This was the beginning of their relationship and it needed to be done right. Reaching up, she took his hand, and pulled him down onto the bed with her. "This story is more important."

He pulled back the sheets and slid beneath, covering himself loosely with the fabric. Kate slid up beside him and sat on her hip, her hand resting carefully on his forearm. As he began the story, his eyes remained focused on his lap. "He kidnapped a lot of women over those years—over twenty, as you know. Most of them blurred together because they seemed cut out of the same mold: always blonde, always petite or medium in build. This woman stood out because she was very large—slender, but tall. I guess that's why he had me help strap her down to the table—normally he did that himself.

"I was, I'm not sure, maybe fifteen or sixteen. I'd had a growth spurt recently—the old pants and shirts he made me wear were tighter and too short in the arms and legs, because of that—and the fact that I didn't get much exercise—I was a bit gangly and awkward. When I was helping put her on the table she slipped and sort of twisted so that she was half flipped over—anyway, her head landed about here," he gestured towards his left side between his waist and hip, right above where his wound was.

"I thought she was still passed out, but, ah, apparently she wasn't because the next thing I knew…"

"She bit you," Kate concluded with a nod.

He let out a mirthless laugh. "No, she clamped down like I was the bear's foot and she was the trap. I actually thought she was going to rip all my skin off. I was screaming and she wouldn't let go—not until he bashed her in the head with something heavy. Then he, ah, blamed me of course and said it served me right for being such an idiot. Wasn't one of my better days." He concluded with a wry smile.

She stroked her hand down his bare arm. "I'm sorry that happened."

He turned away from her and gave a noncommittal shrug. "I suppose all things considered it was no worse than anything else but, uh, women have been upset by the scar before so…"

Kate leaned down and kissed the top of his shoulder. "It doesn't bother me…though you're actually very lucky. Human bites have a tendency to get infected—Espo was bitten by a suspect once; long story." She added with a dismissive wave of her hand when he gazed at her curiously.

He hummed under his breath. "Yeah, then I guess I'm…lucky."

His tone indicated he felt anything but so she stroked her hand over the top of his shoulders and slid just a little bit closer. "You're here with me and that's pretty lucky right?"

A sad little laugh escaped his lips and he picked up her hand that rested on his forearm, lifted it to his lips, and kissed the back of it. Looking over at her with utmost adoration, Rick said, "You have no idea."

Kate leaned in and kissed him, soft and gentle at first, but then a bit slower and deeper. His hand fell across her back until it found the hem of her sweater and creeped underneath. She pulled back and looked at him with questioning eyes and when he nodded ever so slightly, she knew it was ok to continue. She wanted to love him, but needed him to be okay with their intimacy and so as she slid into his lap again she kissed him sweetly in a silent promise to let him set the pace.

* * *

After, they lay side by side in Rick's bed, rearranging their bodies beneath the sheet and against the pillows. At one point, Kate gazed over and saw that Rick's expression made it seem as though a detonation had just occurred in his brain; it made her chuckle. Reaching over, Kate casually traced a finger down his jaw and just below his lips. "You okay?"

He blinked at her. "So that's what that's supposed to be like?"

She nodded. She imagined their coupling filled with love, trust, and one hundred percent honesty was significantly different than any other he'd had previously. "Yeah, it is."

He let out a heavy breath and shut his eyes. "Jesus, you're amazing."

She let out a low chuckle and he dragged her close, using his large hand against her waist. He buried his face in her neck kissing her throat gently a few times before moving his hand up to the center of her back and snuggling them together. She threw her leg over one of his to further entangle them. Then, she settled contented into the arms of the man she loved.

The cuddled together for the better part of five minutes before Rick pulled back and said her name softly. She sighed out her response, her eyes remaining closed.

"I don't even know how I would begin to thank you for everything. I wouldn't be what I am now without you. You're extraordinary."

Her eyes popped open she smiled up at him lazily. Stroking her finger down his jaw she said, "You're not so bad yourself, Rick."

"I'm serious—I…I'll never stop loving you for what you've done for me."

Her heart swelling to at least eight times its normal size, she covered his mouth with hers and held him firm before sighing out, "I love you, too," and meaning every word.

* * *

 **A/N:** Thank you for reading - Epilogue will be posted on Thursday.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Stepping out of the shower, Kate Beckett wrapped a fluffy, luxuriously soft towel around her chest and hummed at the softness on her skin. Prior to motherhood she had most definitely taken all showers for granted—particularly those she shared with her husband—but now twelve minutes beneath a hot spray while she lathered and rinsed seemed like the most exotic vacation in the world—until she came face to face with her post-partum underwear and nursing bra resting on the vanity; then she came crashing back to reality.

Only ten days had passed since the birth so she still felt as though she was in a total haze and existing only in those three or four hours between round-the-clock feedings, but with each passing day it grew easier. She was as tired as she'd ever been in her entire life, but she was also the happiest. It was truly shocking how much her life could change in not quite two weeks.

As Kate moved to the bedroom to exchange the fluffy towel for cotton lounge pants and a t-shirt, she caught a glimpse of the countdown calendar Rick had posted on the back of the closet door and chuckled to herself at the fact that they still were not at the official due date and, had all gone according to the doctor's estimated plan, she would have still been pregnant at that moment; such a notion seemed absurd considering what they'd been through.

When her water broke thirteen days before her due date, both she and Rick had been very concerned and remained that way until ten hours later their daughter arrived weighing a petite six pounds, one ounce and was declared healthy by the hospital staff. The next few hours were filled with tears, laughter, and each of them taking turns cuddling Hannah to their chests; it was perfect.

Fully dressed, Kate made her way out of the master bedroom towards the main living area of the apartment, but paused when she spotted her husband sitting on the couch with a swaddled Hannah balanced in one arm while he held his cell phone to his ear with the other. Kate cracked a smile at the way their tiny infant barely extended more than half-way down his arm. She just looked so small compared to him! That would never stop being amusing.

Smile still on her face, Kate took in her husband's conversation as she entered the room.

"I'm sorry, Gina; I can't. You can be mad at me all you want, but my family comes first. No—no. Just because Hannah is here doesn't mean I can…no, two more weeks won't be enough time. Maybe in two _months_ but—Fine. Fine. Call me in four weeks and we'll see, but I make no promises!" He ended the call, tossed his cell on the couch beside him, and grinned down at his daughter, clearly obvious to his wife's presence. "No, Daddy can't leave you Hannie; he can't. I'd miss you too, too much." He cooed before bringing her tiny body closer to his face so he could snuggle his head against hers.

Kate felt tears prick her eyes as she observed the scene before her. Though she knew her emotional swings were partly hormonal, she also knew endless love for the man who, from the very first moment, had been the most incredible father she'd ever witnessed.

Clearing her throat, she stepped further into the room and asked, "Everything okay?"

He smiled at her. "Sure. Why wouldn't it be?"

"Gina still insisting you go on that book tour?"

"Of course, but it's her job."

Kate hummed and sat down beside him so she could gaze at Hannah, who seemed to be just waking up from her latest nap. She stroked her hand down her daughter's arm and asked, "Did she tell you the debut number?"

"Oh. Yeah. Number one on _The Times_."

His tone made it seem as though it were the most casual thing in the world, but Kate knew it was anything but. In fact, it was his second in a row to debut at the top and third to reach that position, but all five of his releases had been in the top twenty at one point or another. Kate leaned in and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. "Rick, that's wonderful. I'm so proud of you!" Truly she was and had been since the beginning.

When their romantic relationship officially began, it had started out rougher than either anticipated, with both of them trying to make the transition between friends and lovers while also navigating their relationship insecurities thanks to events from their past. On top of that, it was Christmastime—Rick's favorite and her most dreaded time of year. By February, they'd hit their stride and everything went well for them through his book release and first mini-tour. In fact, everything seemed perfect until July when in one week she took a bullet to her vest (resulting in two cracked ribs but nothing major other than Rick's terror and heartbreak) and Rick's past kidnapping was revealed by the media. They were immediately bombarded with paparazzi and interview requests from dozens of outlets. Rick had spent several days cowering in Kate's apartment, regretting his decision to publish at all. Kate's support never wavered in that time and by the end of the following week not only had Rick given a poignant interview for national television, but they were engaged as well.

As their relationship felt like a whirlwind at that point, they decided on a long engagement while Rick worked on converting some of his other pre-written works into a more publishable form. They waited over a year to marry and even longer to start their family and though her coworkers made her feel silly for waiting for so long, Kate disagreed. They did what was right for them and their family was perfect.

A slight rose color crept into his cheeks as he said, "Yeah well Black Pawn is pretty proud, too. Gina told me they're sending over a bonus check in the next week and…well, let's just say I can finally get that Ferrari I've wanted."

Though she knew he was mostly teasing, Kate still gave her husband a pointed look. "Baby seats do not go in Ferraris."

"I'm not getting rid of the Mercedes—this is an addition!"

Kate rolled her eyes. "Uh huh; well, we'll see."

He grinned and leaned in for a long kiss. "I love you."

She smiled back at him. "I love you, too."

* * *

 **A/N** : I really cannot begin to thank you all so much for your support of this AU. I'm so thrilled that you all enjoyed it and thank you all for your reviews/follows.

Up next I'll have a 3-shot that's an AU-is inset for "Rise" and then another multi-chap "The Other Side of Broken"


End file.
